Harry Potter and the Heart of the Hero
by Jeograph
Summary: Dumbledore is gone, or is he? Harry feels the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. His brooding nature and desire to face his fate alone may be his greatest weakness. It is his capacity for emotion that makes him strong, his relationships his greatest strength. Who is he really? Can Harry become the wizard he needs to be to face the Dark Lord?
1. Prologue - Wrath of the Dark Lord

Prologue

**Wrath of the Dark Lord**

Severus Snape woke with a start and a harsh intake of stale, dank air. He hurt, not just from the hard surface he lay on, but from the horrible muscle-twisting and mentally-dimming effects of the Cruciatus Curse. It was dark around him–black as pitch, and though he was sure his eyes were wide open, there was nothing before him but the void of darkness. Somewhere nearby he could hear random drips of liquid and he could smell not just the musty, damp air, but also the harsher scents of decay, and death.

He reached out along the floor, groping awkwardly for a wand he knew would not be there. He found cold hard rock beneath him, the edges of large, flat, squarely cut stones where they abutted one another. The careful fitting revealed that this was a place wrought by the hand of a thinking creature, wizard, goblin, elf, possibly even human, but he was not sure of what use that knowledge could be except to confirm that he was a prisoner. But that much he knew already.

His aching body protested as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, his legs crossed. He was a very powerful wizard, but he had never been particularly good at wandless magic. Still, he held his hand out in front of him, palm upward, and concentrated on articulating the words, _"Igni Lumen,"_ in his head. There was a sharp sound like the momentary scrape of flint on steel; a small ember glowed about an inch above his palm. It lasted only an instant and it was gone.

His lungs protesting, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, focusing his mind.

_"Igni Lumen!"_ he spat the words forcefully.

There was a crackling sound, and again an ember appeared an inch above his palm, a lightly glowing orange point in the darkness. He concentrated and a small flame grew from the ember flickering and growing like a newly lighted candle guttering in a light breeze. The flame grew larger and brighter illuminating the cell. It was a stone room about three meters square and possibly two meters tall. Each wall, the floor, and the ceiling were the same, composed of rectangular stones carefully fitted together to cover the whole space. Some of the stones were as large as a meter across and nearly as tall as the room itself. Any of these, he knew, could be the doorway.

Here and there drips fell from the ceiling and Severus thought he detected the liquid movement of millipedes across the joints of the walls, but he knew he was otherwise alone. He also knew that further exploration was futile as the cell would be magically sealed, and, wandless as he was, there would be little he could do. The light in his palm flickered away and he remained still in the darkness. He wished he could access a healing draught from his stores in his dungeon office at Hogwarts, but he recalled with sudden and terrible clarity that he could not.

He could not because all of Hogwarts and, for that matter, all of the civilized wizarding world were now his enemies, made so the instant that he had spoken the words that had taken the life of Albus Dumbledore.

That was the thing... He had done it. He had taken Dumblebore's life.

And the Dark Lord was furious.

"Draco Malfoy, whining, whimpering, worthless schoolboy!" The words hissed from the taut lips of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Draco lay prostrate on the cold floor, magically bound, as the berating words poured forth from the lips of his father's master – the master he himself had longed to serve. Pain seared through him as Voldemort quite casually twisted his limbs with the Cruciatus Curse. Draco was sure he would have passed out from the agony had another curse not been keeping him conscious to experience the torment.

Draco had wanted to prove himself, to atone for his father's failure in the Ministry. He wanted to earn a Dark Mark, making him a true Death Eater, but he had failed in the last minutes of the plan when he had let doubt and uncertainty rob him of what might have been a certain victory. He was afraid... afraid then of what he would become if he killed his headmaster, the only wizard that the Dark Lord had ever seemed to fear, and afraid now of what would become of him at the hands of the most fearsome and terrible wizard to ever live.

So much pain had been inflicted upon Draco that it was now a dull ache compared to his fear. That fear gripped his throat and chest more tightly than the magical bonds that held him to the ground.

They were in a grand hall, but where that hall was exactly, Draco had no idea. In the middle of the floor where he lay was a large pentagonal stone of polished granite. Surrounding this centerpiece were darker slabs of a finer grained stone which continued outward from the center in alternating circles of color. Interwoven in the floor design was the image of a large snake, a basilisk, curling outward from the center, its head emerging from the design, becoming a raised dais directly above and in front of Draco.

Voldemort circled him moving counter clockwise while the snake, Nagini, slithered a wider circle in the opposite direction. Somewhere there were brightly burning torches casting flickering illumination and long shadows, but bound as he was, Draco could not see from where. Beyond the Dark Lord, there stood some twenty Death Eaters in a wide semi circle.

"How could you fail me when I made it so easy?" spat the Dark Lord, "When Dumbledore did not defend himself with magic, but only words?"

Voldemort stopped and stared down at the whimpering boy. He kneeled low, getting down on his hands and knees, and bringing his serpentine face near Draco's. "Shall I kill you for your failure, or merely punish you for being a stupid boy… so much less than a man?"

Draco had no words to respond, his face grimaced in pain, his tongue magically plastered to the roof of his mouth to prevent his screaming.

The Dark Lord grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his knees. Stepping back Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it at Draco's chest.

"NO!" screamed a hooded figure lunging forward from the circle of Death Eaters.

Tearing away her hood and mask as she lunged forward, Narcissa Malfoy threw herself between her tortured son and the wand of the dreaded Dark Lord. Her blonde hair and pale face shown brightly in the torch light as she thrust herself to the ground at Voldemort's feet, the straight locks of her hair splayed out from her upturned face.

"I beg you my Lord; do not kill my only son! My husband is sentenced to life in Azkaban. How am I to serve you well if you take everything from me?" Narcissa's pleading words filled the room, her voice choked with anguish and hysteria, her face covered in tears.

Voldemort stopped still, a look of fear playing across his face for a split second as this frantic woman threw herself at his feet, pleading to protect her son.

He directed his wand at Narcissa and a stream of red light arced from its tip engulfing her pale form in tendrils of light, like arcing electricity. She was lifted violently from the floor and tossed hard against one of the large stone columns that flanked the hall. She slid down the pillar collapsing limp to the floor. None moved to offer her assistance as she lay there broken, her chest heaving for breath.

"You have nothing save that which I grant you!" the Dark Lord hissed.

Voldemort again leveled his wand at Draco and the boy's lean tortured form rose up off the floor as though suspended from wrist bindings.

Voldemort spoke calmly now, all anger gone from his voice, "You shall learn the price of failing me, boy."

With a flick of his wand a pair of cat-o'-nine-tails appeared in the air behind Draco. The Dark Lord smiled sadistically as each whip began in turn lashing the suspended boy. With a twist of Voldemort's wrist Draco's tongue was unbound, each lash eliciting an agonized scream. Blood dripped freely from the deep gashes spattering the granite beneath.

The Dark Lord stepped up onto the basilisk head shaped dais, and slid easily into a throne so elaborately carved that it appeared to be a mass of writhing snakes. From this vantage point he sat observing his Death Eaters as the whips performed their horrid work. Finally, after some twenty lashes each, Voldemort lightly flicked his wand and the whips disappeared.

Draco's head hung limp as his brain screamed for the release that might come through passing out. Low throaty sobs escaped him. Up again from his seat Voldemort approached Draco as he dropped slightly lower. Voldemort's outstretched left hand reached for Draco's face and he gripped it tightly. Turning it up a little he looked deeply into Draco's wide, terror filled, grey eyes.

"I must know your mind," he stated simply, flicking his wand. Voldemort's Legilimency spell was so intense it caused a rush of visible mental energies to flow from Draco's head into the Dark Lord's own, the effect blurring and obscuring Draco's terrified features.

For long seconds, Voldemort turned his head from side to side as though considering the rush of memories. He breathed halted "ahs" and slight gasps as the events, and more than that, the emotional essence of what was Draco Malfoy flooded through him.

Suddenly he broke his contact and stepped back. Voldemort breathed deeply and looked up at the boy, his eyes burning with disgust and hatred.

"Greedy, spoiled, lying, selfish, brat!" The words were venomous. "You believe that you actually deserve the wealth and station into which you were born." The Dark Lord's voice cackled dangerously as his anger rose. "You are nothing but an ignorant boy, and a coward!"

Voldemort raised his wand again, this time holding it close to Draco's forehead. A bright tendril of orange light streamed suddenly from the wand tip appearing to burn the boy's flesh. Sparks arched away as the Dark Lord slashed across Draco's face. The wand light dissipated revealing a bright yellow, ragged "X" crossing at the bridge of Draco's nose. "Now, you have the ancient coward's mark, and I am done with you."

As the Dark Lord turned, slowly stepping up the dais toward his throne once more, Draco fell unceremoniously to the hard floor, his mother crawling painfully and desperately toward his unconscious form. Narcissa pulled Draco's limp body into her arms, sobbing.

"I am done with you both," Voldemort's voice intruded, again dripping with malice as his wand arm thrust forward. "Be gone from me."

A massive arc of violet energy struck the two broken figures like a flash of lightning. They were momentarily engulfed in dark flame and then they were gone, leaving only a scorch mark and a wisp of acrid smoke.

**NEXT**

Chapter One

**Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs**


	2. Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs

Chapter One

**Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs**

Harry sat still in the warm beams of light passing through the beveled panes of the window seat near his bed in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. He casually brushed a finger along the breast feathers of his owl, Hedwig, through the open door of her cage next to him. His thoughts were a whirl—too much to process, and he felt no resolve to do so.

He had been so sure of everything right after the funeral. Sure that he had to break it off with Ginny, sure that he couldn't support the Ministry, sure that he had to go off alone to fulfill his destiny. But then Ron and Hermione had set him straight on that account. They were not about to let him go off alone, and he knew that despite his fears for them, there would be nothing he could say to dissuade them.

They had had, surprisingly, a good time together in the half hour or so after the funeral, walking around the lake, not talking about the future but reminiscing on their six years together at Hogwarts, their adventures, and their memories of Dumbledore. They even found laughter recalling memories of Seamus Finnigan's every attempt at spell casting going explosively awry during their first year. That laughter had let loose a tidal wave of happy memories. They fell into a comfortable ease that defied the future, and afforded them a brief respite from the concerns of the world as they walked in the grass and the sunlight.

Somewhere along the way Harry had suddenly noticed that Ron and Hermione's hands were together, the fingers firmly intertwined, as they walked casually. He had stopped, a huge smile spreading across his face. "Finally" he blurted out.

Ron and Hermione stopped. Harry could see them both look down at their hands in unison. Harry wondered for an instant if they had even been aware that they were holding hands. They both stiffened as they suddenly disentangled their fingers and pulled apart. Hermione spun around, and she was flushed pink with embarrassment. Ron turned more slowly, and hesitantly, his cheeks were flushed crimson and he looked more guilty than embarrassed.

"Don't try and tell me that was an accident," Harry exclaimed. He pointed at them, his finger wagging, gesturing to the moment that had already passed. "When are you two going to come to your senses?" Harry sighed, still smiling at his two best friends.

"Harry," Hermione laughed in exasperation as she stepped towards him. "What is that supposed to mean?" She stood staring at Harry whose smile was widening into a stupid grin. "And wipe that grin off your face," she demanded, feigning anger. She was clearly too embarrassed to do anything other than grin.

Harry looked at Ron who had not moved and was swallowing hard. He seemed cemented to his spot, and Harry knew that he had interrupted something unplanned and un-discussed. Harry glanced back at Hermione. She was one of his best friends and he knew that caught in this situation, embarrassed, she would revert to frustration and anger unless the moment was defused. Harry turned his eyes to Ron again and raised his eyebrow as if to say, I'm sorry, but now or never mate.

Ron had swallowed yet again and nodded very slightly. He stepped forward hesitantly and spoke in a timid, stammering voice, "Hermione." She had turned to face him, her eyes widening, the corners of her mouth curled worriedly. "I… I…"Ron looked down no longer meeting her gaze.

Harry's heart sank in his chest. He wanted to yell at Ron not to miss the moment, but he knew that Ron had to do this by himself, and he felt, sympathetically, just how hard it was for him.

Hermione seemed to know this too as she had reached out and taken Ron's hands in her own. This small contact seemed to give Ron just the right nudge. Harry thought he heard Ron swear under his breath and he raised his head again looking Hermione straight in the eyes.

Harry heard Hermione's breath catch, and he was suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, and how much he was the intruder. But, these were two people he cared for as family, he had watched their relationship build toward this kind of a moment and he couldn't pull himself away, he had to witness this, he had to be sure that it was really happening.

"I've been a complete git," Ron's voice was steady and clear, "And I have to tell you how I feel."

Hermione's mouth twisted into the lopsided smirk of a smile that Harry knew was a sign of pure delight. "And just how would that be?" Her eyes sparkled with the question.

Ron glanced sidelong at Harry for an instant. Harry could see the resolve in Ron's face and he nodded encouragingly. "You are my best friend in the entire world," Ron continued. "Well… except for Harry," he tipped his head in Harry's direction, "but I have wanted to be more than friends for a long time." Ron paused, as if he were preparing his next words. Hermione leaned in closer. "Hermione… I would like you to… I… would you be my g-girlfriend?" Ron blurted out.

Harry wouldn't have thought it possible, but Hermione blushed even pinker. In a rather serious tone she said, "Why on Earth has it taken you so long to pluck up the courage?" Then she threw her arms around his neck, "I've just been waiting for you to ask."

Harry realized he had been holding his breath. He could see Hermione biting her bottom lip in anticipation, and Ron leaned in closer, his face moving near to hers. She craned her neck back and glanced at Harry suddenly. Ron turned his head then too, his face flaring red, and he said, "Um... Harry mate... would you mind turning around for a moment?"

"Oh... Yeah... of course," came Harry's halted response.

Harry could hear Hermione giggle as he spun on his heels and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe. Searching for a distraction he pretended to examine a passing butterfly, trying in vain, to not be aware of his best friends in the entire world sharing their first kiss some few meters behind him.

He felt his resolve about Ginny dissolve suddenly as he thought about Ron and Hermione. And he wondered if there really was any way to truly protect her—If denying himself Ginny's company, and she his, would really achieve anything. As he thought it to himself a fear gripped his heart. He felt in that instant that it was an irrational fear borne of his history of lost loved ones. The realization struck him that, as with all his fears, this one too must be dealt with before he could face his future, and he smiled to himself as he felt then the sense memory of Ginny's hand clasped in his own. He would have to think about this some more.

"Eh hem," Harry cleared his throat. "I'm gonna turn back round now." He slowly spun around to see a smiling Ron and Hermione coming toward him, Ron's arm draped comfortably across Hermione's shoulders and her arm around his waist.

"I suppose we should be getting back, don't you?" Ron said. "Everyone will be looking for us, 'cos the Express is supposed to leave soon."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry mumbled.

Harry looked round slowly taking in the moment, realizing that he wasn't sad, but happy; happy that his best friends had finally figured it out. Happy that the three of them were together, that the day was so beautiful, that there was life all around him, and happiest because he knew deep down that this was what Dumbledore would most want for him; to be able to feel happiness in spite of everything. He smiled to himself.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione's concerned voice penetrated his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

"Yeah," he replied wistfully. "I'm good... really good." She held out her free hand to him and he took it.

"Come on then," she said, and together the three of them made their way back along the lake path toward the castle.

When the threesome came back into view of Hogwarts, they could see that most of the crowd had disappeared. There was no sign of the Ministry delegation and the elaborate Beauxbatons' carriage was gone. A small gathering of students was shuffling around near the entrance, mostly those who were Muggle born. They were waiting with their trunks for the carriages to come take them to Hogsmeade station. Harry, Ron and Hermione headed immediately for the courtyard and slipped back into the castle. Winding their way through familiar hallways, they were off toward Gryffindor tower to retrieve their trunks. Turning a corner they saw Ginny who noticed them immediately and ran toward them.

"Ron," she called, "Mum and Dad are furious."

She reached them and paused to breathe. Harry thought he detected a motion of her hand toward his, but if it was so, she retrieved it a mere instant after it moved.

"Well... I think maybe scared, actually," Ginny continued. "When you three disappeared after the funeral Mum thought you'd been kidnapped or something, she's been trying to get Professor McGonagall to start a search." She breathed again, concentrating her words on her brother, obviously avoiding eye contact with Harry.

She continued briskly, "Hagrid announced that the train has been delayed a little to allow students a bit more time, but we are all supposed to be gathering with our stuff already."

Ginny paused again, no longer looking at her brother's face, but rather his hand, where Hermione's was still clasped tightly within it. Her eyes widened and she smiled slightly. "You... You two?" she stammered.

"Yes," Hermione answered softly.

Ginny exhaled loudly. "Finally!" was her only response.

Ron and Hermione both broke into a subdued laugh, looking over at Harry. He smiled slightly, understanding their laughter and appreciating his "ex" girlfriend's response as identical to his own. Ginny looked at him confused. He shrugged his shoulders. Ginny shook her head forcing her thoughts to more pressing matters.

"Well," she stepped forward grabbing Ron's free arm. "We'd better find Mum and Dad and tell them you haven't been taken by Death Eaters, or something." She pulled him into motion. "I think they want to Floo home."

Hermione, still holding Ron's hand, was pulled into motion as well, but turned to Harry quickly. "Don't worry, Harry, we'll take the Express with you. We'll be up to the dormitory in a minute to collect our trunks."

"You up here, Harry?"

The sound of Ron's voice from the stairs jerked Harry from his daydream review of the past hour's events.

Ron entered the room, crossed directly to his four-poster, grabbed the small owl cage with Pigwidgeon in it, and his trunk. "We gotta go Harry; they're waiting on us out front."

Harry clasped the door of Hedwig's cage and dropped the cloth cover. Hedwig cooed knowingly. He stood, lifting the owl cage and grabbing his trunk. He followed his friend down the stairs to the common room. Hermione was already down from her dorm, Crookshank's carry basket slung over one shoulder, and her own trunk in tow. The three glanced around the common room for a moment, each wondering when, and if they would ever see it again, none voicing their thoughts. They turned and, levitating their trunks with a flick of each wand, left the tower.

The Hogwarts Express seemed nearly deserted compared to its usual packed condition. The aisle was quiet as most of the students had chosen to stay in compartments near the front of the train. Harry, however, had opted to move to the back of the train, the last compartment of the last carriage in fact, to distance himself from possible questions and curious gazes. He had been disappointed to learn that Ginny had Flooed back to the Burrow with her parents, but felt he understood. After all, he had just broken up with her.

Ron and Hermione had settled their things into the compartment with Harry but some twenty minutes later were off to check on the other students, being the only prefects on the train. They had been gone now for nearly an hour. Harry wondered if perhaps they had checked the whole train quickly and now had found a quiet compartment somewhere where they could engage in a proper snogging session now that they were officially a couple. He smiled at the thought, feeling happy for them. This line of thought made him miss Ginny again. He felt the creature inside of him stir uncomfortably, as if it wanted to sleep a bit longer before being awakened, and he did his best to banish the longing from his mind.

He stood up and pulled his trunk down from the luggage rack, popped it open and rummaged through the contents retrieving a comfortable, worn, gray sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He clicked the lock on the compartment door, drew the blinds, and quickly changed out of his robes and school uniform, tossing them carelessly into the trunk. He began to close the trunk, but hesitated. Reaching back in, he retrieved the false Horcrux from his pants pocket. He held it up by its chain, really examining it for the first time since retrieving it from where it had fallen from Dumbledore's robe pocket. It was truly nondescript, not a visible mark on it. It twisted on its chain, and Harry couldn't help but think of the terrible price that had been paid to retrieve it.

Just then there was a knock on the compartment door and Ron's voice called out, "Harry, you alright in there?"

Hermione's voice joined Ron's with what sounded like a slight bit of panic in the tone, "Harry?!"

Harry turned quickly, flipped the lock, and slid the door open. "I was just changing," he offered as explanation. The faces of his friends shone with relief.

"Good idea," Ron chimed, stepping in and pulling down Hermione's trunk, followed by his own.

Harry, unnoticed, tucked the locket into his jeans pocket and stepped out into the aisle, watching the landscape slip past as the train rumbled along.

Hermione emerged from the compartment with a selection of neatly folded clothes and slipped into the adjacent compartment, drawing the blinds as she did so. Ron stepped out a minute later dressed much as Harry in Muggle jeans and a sweatshirt, though his was the orange color of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team.

"You and Hermione getting on okay?" Harry asked casually.

"Magnificent," Ron smiled in return, his ears reddening slightly, his eyes showing a momentary far off look.

They stood silently for the few minutes it took Hermione to return from the other compartment. She was also now dressed in jeans. Though, rather than a sweatshirt, she wore a light pink zip fastening jumper, with a matching singlet beneath. She smiled at them, but, Harry thought, mostly at Ron. She was carrying her carefully folded robe and uniform, obviously to be packed back in her trunk. Harry thought of his own clothes tossed unceremoniously into his trunk and knew that Ron's had been packed no better. He suppressed a chuckle.

Suddenly Hermione's expression changed from a smile to one of urgency and fear. She raised a hand pointing out the window behind Ron and Harry, her neatly folded clothing falling to the aisle floor.

"What?" cried Ron, stepping toward Hermione, reaching out in concern.

Harry spun to look out the window.

"There was something, I don't know, something flashed past the windows," Hermione sputtered, one hand clasped tightly to Ron's, the other pulling her wand from her pocket.

Harry pressed his face to the glass trying to see what she had seen. Suddenly it happened again, a streak of red swooped into sight flashing past the windows and up out of view.

"There it was again!" Hermione screamed.

"I saw it!" Ron yelled. "Did you see it Harry?" Ron called at him, but Harry was already moving toward the back of the carriage.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled at him. "Where are you going?"

Harry was already at the back of the train and pulling open the door. As this was the final car a waist high gate was locked across the outside of the passage. Harry flung his head out the opening to look. Ron and Hermione rushed to his side.

"What is it?" Ron asked as they reached him.

Harry stepped back from the opening holding the door open as a large scarlet and gold plumed bird landed easily on the gate rail.

"It's Fawkes," he said excitedly. The Phoenix trilled loudly and tipped his head at Harry.

Harry reached up to stroke the Phoenix's back.

"He's got something there," Hermione pointed out gesturing to Fawkes' beak.

"Looks like a bit of metal," Ron added.

Harry held out his hand and Fawkes dropped a small rectangular piece of what appeared to be pewter in his palm. Having delivered his gift, Fawkes nudged Harry's hand with what seemed genuine affection, trilled quietly again, stretched his wings, and let the wind carry him majestically away from the train in a sweeping arc. He quickly disappeared from view amid the surrounding forested hills. For a minute no one said anything, they just stared in wonder at where Fawkes had been.

"What is it Harry?" Hermione broke the silence.

"I don't know," Harry replied, looking at the object in his palm.

He turned it over in his hand examining it. It was a simple bit of pewter, a clean rectangle two centimeters thick and about eight long. There was a narrow slit across what had to be the top. On one side, as he turned it again, was the name Albus Dumbledore, in raised letters across the front of the otherwise smooth object.

"I haven't the slightest idea, Hermione," Harry said.

"I do," said Ron excitedly. "I know exactly."

Ron turned to rush back to the compartment. Harry looked at Hermione with an inquisitive expression, and she returned a look that told Harry she was as confused as he was. They followed to the compartment where Ron was digging through his trunk hurriedly tossing clothes and books every which way.

"Ron," Hermione called, a hint of exasperation in her voice, "What are you doing?"

Ron stood up and turned. He was holding a small tin, which Harry recognized as his Chocolate Frog Card collection. Ron smiled. "That bit there is a collector's display base, mate." Ron's voice was excited, giddy, making him sound a few years younger. He tore off the tin lid, tossing it in the seat, and began rummaging through his cards. Harry looked at the piece of pewter in his hand and understanding dawned on him.

"Ron you're brilliant," Hermione exclaimed. She had obviously understood as well.

"Dumbledore is the brilliant one," Harry said calmly. "This base has got to be enchanted. Got a Dumbledore card Ron?" he asked anxiously.

"I've got about six, mate!" Ron smiled. His fingers were quickly ruffling through his cards. He stopped, his smile broadening. With a victorious sweep of his arm he presented Harry with the desired card. Harry took the card, glancing at the image of Dumbledore, which smiled and quickly turned to step away, disappearing into shadow. Harry moved to the back of the compartment where there was a narrow drink ledge beneath the window. He set the base down on the ledge, crouching down so his head was level with it. Ron and Hermione came close behind him bending as well to look at the base. Gingerly, he held the card up, holding his breath as he positioned it over the small groove.

"Here goes," Harry breathed as he dropped the card into the slot. For a second, nothing happened. Then the photographic figure of Albus Dumbledore stepped back into view, looking curiously as though discovering a forgotten window. It peered out from the small card and a delighted expression of recognition spread across the small face.

"Harry, my boy," came the familiar voice. "What's wrong?" Dumbledore asked concernedly.

Harry realized that thick warm tears were sliding down his cheeks. The sniffle behind him told him that Hermione was having a similar reaction to the animated photograph of their recent Headmaster.

"Nothing sir..." Harry sniffed. "I'm just very glad to see you."

NEXT

Chapter Two

**A Little Advice**


	3. A Little Advice

Chapter Two

**A Little Advice**

"I am very glad to see you too," the photograph chuckled lightly, and a bit concernedly, as it looked at the emotional Harry.

"Delighted to see you as well, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," the little Dumbledore nodded at them.

"And you, Professor," Ron blurted out, a little more loudly than he intended.

"Professor?" Hermione plucked up, her curiosity getting the better of her. "How did you think to enchant a Chocolate Frog Collector's base?" she inquired.

"Oh... Well… You see, I needed an object that would not attract attention to itself. Something that would seem commonplace amongst the possessions of someone like Harry or Ron, and..." the image smiled slightly, "I am, after all, a collector myself."

"It's bloody brilliant," Ron exclaimed. "I have loads of cards and I'll wager Harry has, too."

Harry smiled and nodded in agreement.

"However," the little Dumbledore cut in, his tone becoming serious. "The fact that I chose to enchant this particular object is of little concern at the moment," he sighed slightly as he paused. "What is significant is that Fawkes has delivered this object to you at this time."

The three breathed heavily in unison realizing that the animated trading-card-Dumbledore was coming to understand its reality.

"I can only surmise then that something terribly dramatic has happened to me," it said.

Harry found the calm in the tiny Dumbledore's voice a little infuriating and he knew suddenly what was coming.

"Tell me Harry..." Harry steeled himself for the question. "Have I died?"

The question, asked so matter-of-factly in Dumbledore's own voice, hit Harry like hot wind, his face flushed, the events of that terrible night rushing back into his consciousness with a fury. Harry lost his balance, falling back from his crouching position, but was instantly caught and supported by Ron and Hermione together.

"Oh... I see," the card continued evenly. "Well, I knew something like this might happen – obviously," he paused in apparent thought and then continued. "Harry, eventually I will need you to tell me everything that happened. But not right this instant."

Harry, who now realized he had been holding his breath, exhaled in relief, not wanting to tell the whole story again so soon. In the few days between attack and funeral he had recounted the events several times to several people. Professor McGonagall and key members of the teaching staff, some members of the Order of the Phoenix, the investigating Aurors from the Ministry of Magic, and, the entire story, Horcrux search and all, to Ron and Hermione alone. He was glad that the one entity that deserved the whole story didn't feel it was so important at the moment.

"For right now," Dumbledore forged on, "What is important is what happens next. I gather we are on the Hogwarts Express heading for King's Cross?"

"Yes sir," Harry responded automatically.

"Very good, then I trust you are returning to the Dursleys, Harry?" the inquiry followed.

"Yes sir." Harry began. "Ron and Hermione are planning to accompany me for the required fortnight and then we were planning on going back to The Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding."

"I see." There was a slight furrowing of the Dumbledore's brow that was difficult to see in the small card. "And you have approved this with your Aunt and Uncle?" Dumbledore asked evenly.

"Well... No sir." Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as the miniscule Dumbledore pointed out the first obvious flaw in his plan.

"Perhaps, Harry, we two should discuss this briefly... in private?" The tone was not commanding, simply a level request with a slight hint of concern. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, do you have some prefect duties you might attend to, or you may find some other activity to pass a few minutes?"

Harry thought he saw a brief twinkle in the eye of the miniature Headmaster, and perhaps a slight smile just at the edges of his mouth. He wondered if the little Dumbledore knew something... and how that could be possible.

"Certainly sir," Ron responded quickly. He reached down sliding his hand along Hermione's forearm and into her own. He stood up, tugging her along. "I think we can nip off and find something to do sir." Ron smiled, already pulling at the compartment door.

Hermione, blushing and, giggling slightly, offered, "We'll just… go and check the other students." Ron was tugging at her gently but persistently. Hermione rolled her eyes, as if to say "sorry about this Harry," but Harry just nodded and smiled.

"Very good Miss Granger, do take your time," said Dumbledore.

The compartment door slid back into place and clicked closed. Harry turned back to the card, still smiling just a little with the not so surprising joy he felt in the knowledge that Ron and Hermione had found their relationship in a new, and Harry felt, better place.

"Nice to see that those two have finally... come to an understanding," Dumbledore chuckled openly. "Certainly has been steeping long enough."

Harry smiled back at the card. "Yeah... I always felt they'd work it out though." Harry reached over and turned the base on the ledge, then plopped himself up on the seat, next to his trunk.

"Forgive me, Harry." The card spoke again earnestly. "I don't want to appear to be poking into your private life. But, might I inquire about you and Miss Weasley?"

"Ginny?" The question startled Harry, pulling all his doubt and uncertainty to the surface. "Well, sir... I... Well, I broke it off sir... earlier today."

"Oh, dear... I am sorry to hear that. Wasn't meant to be then?" Dumbledore asked, more to himself than inquiring of Harry.

Harry was becoming a little uncomfortable with this question. What was Dumbledore getting at?

"Sir... No... That's not it." Harry couldn't help but be honest, even if this wasn't the living Dumbledore. He just wished he really knew what this was all about. "I just... I can't make her a target... I can't bear it... Everyone I lo–" Harry hesitated for the briefest instant, "care for… dies!" He felt a bit defeated and sank back against the seat a little deeper.

"Yes, well..." Dumbledore responded, a note of concern in his voice. "Harry, forgive me again, but I must ask. Do you love Ginny Weasley?"

Harry's eyes widened and a rush of thoughts and feelings twisted in his brain, in unison with that creature in his chest and belly that always seemed to accompany thoughts of Ginny. He remembered first meeting the petite, boisterous, quick-witted girl at The Burrow who could handle all her big brothers with a steely gaze, but became tongue-tied in his presence. He recalled the seemingly lifeless Ginny lying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

His heart skipped a beat.

He pictured the lovely smiling Ginny cheering on the Irish at the Quidditch World Cup, the beautiful graceful Ginny dancing with Neville at the Yule Ball, the flirty Ginny, dating Dean Thomas, but none-the-less the girl on the minds of half the boys in the Gryffindor tower, perhaps the whole school. Finally his mind rested upon the serene, contented and oh so strong Ginny whose hand fit perfectly in his own.

"Harry?" Dumbledore reminded gently.

"Yes," Harry whispered the lone acknowledging word. Hearing himself speak it out loud, it was as if he were giving it permission to be… as if he were discovering some ancient truth. The creature inside him seemed to roar triumphantly. Harry, sat up, looked directly at the face of Dumbledore, and in a clear confident voice said.

"Yes sir... I love her."

"Ah ha," said the miniature Dumbledore, a bit more excitedly than Harry ever remembered hearing him. He was actually clapping his hands lightly. "Harry, my boy," Dumbledore continued in a jovial tone. "All your life you have been protected by the one greatest thing that Voldemort doesn't understand." He chuckled lightly. "Love..." He said the word with warmth and reverence. "While it is true that people you've loved, and who have loved you, have died, some sacrificing themselves for your protection. It is wrong to believe that you have caused it to be," Dumbledore paused, watching Harry closely. "Despite your unconscionable upbringing in the home of the Dursleys… Harry, you remain capable of so much love. You are surrounded by it and it flows from within you in great abundance. That is your gift, and your strength. Do not push it away."

Harry relaxed back into his seat again, listening carefully, trying to let the words soak in.

"If, Miss Weasley returns this love, she may well represent your greater strength and your strongest weapon. Do not allow fear to rob you of anything, Harry, for fear is Voldemort's strongest weapon." There was a long pause. "To succumb to it is to forfeit the battle before it's begun."

Harry stared through the little card to the opposite side of the compartment, not saying a word. He could feel the faux Dumbledore watching him intently, searching for some indication that his words had had their desired effect. Harry recalled his own thoughts of just hours before; thoughts along these same lines. He felt slightly dizzy, as though his body and mind were out of sync. He knew the fear was not gone. But, the creature in his chest began a low contented purr. There was a long quiet.

"Oh dear..." came Dumbledore's voice seemingly a bit distressed. It shook Harry out of his momentary malaise. He glanced over to see the little Dumbledore patting the front of his robes. "I do wish the manufacturers of these cards had thought to take my photo with a tin of lemon drops."

Harry chuckled a little in spite of himself. He wasn't sure if it was a genuine desire, or just a carefully calculated segue, but it worked, bringing Harry's mind back to the moment.

"Now, Harry, tell me what you have been planning."

"Well sir, I was planning to go back to the Dursley's for the shortest time possible, then to the wedding and The Burrow to await my birthday. After that I was thinking to go to Godric's Hollow and from there, who knows where, to find the remaining Horcruxes. But with you here now... Well sort of." The little figure of Dumbledore bowed slightly in recognition of the last remark. "I imagine I should re-think everything."

"Well, no Harry... and yes perhaps," came the oddly contradictory response of the former Headmaster. "You are obviously following your heart, and that is most certainly a good place to begin. But, I imagine together we could... tweak... the particulars."

Harry smiled deeply, understanding then for the first time that even though Dumbledore was... gone... he had neither abandoned nor stopped protecting him. He felt a pressing burden lifted from his heart, as though he need not carry the weight of the world alone. He felt now… that there were… possibilities.

Harry's thoughts turned back to Ginny and he wished she had come on the train. He had been so cruel, not meaning to be, but he was... And she had been so understanding, ready to stoically abide by whatever decision he thought he must make.

A fear suddenly gripped him. What if she would not take him back? The creature inside him panicked momentarily causing Harry to sit bolt upright and clutch his chest. But, he knew in his heart that that would not be the case. The creature settled reluctantly. He looked down at the image of Dumbledore, who was regarding him thoughtfully from the small card.

"Harry..." Dumbledore spoke calmly and purposefully. "Am I correct in assuming that you are now distracted by thoughts of Miss Weasley?" Harry nodded, blushing slightly. Dumbledore continued, "I believe, Harry, that matter, while important, will be quite easily resolved. Now however, we should consider other things."

"Right Professor..." Harry forced thoughts of Ginny out of his head with the contentment that they could soon return.

"Now, about the Dursleys..." Dumbledore began again.

Harry and the Dumbledore card discussed immediate plans for some time, working together a slightly altered plan for the next few weeks. After about a half hour, having determined a course of action for the immediate future, Harry realized that he was quite fatigued by the many events of the day and the excitement of discovering that he would have the continuing council of his greatest protector. Dumbledore, seeing this, suggested that they resume their discussions once Harry was back in his room at number four Privet Drive and Harry readily agreed.

With a smile and a sly wink, the little Dumbledore had turned and stepped out of the frame. With a simple, "talk to you soon then," Harry had plucked the card from the base. It immediately ceased to be anything other than one of Ron's Chocolate Frog cards.

Harry tucked the card in Ron's tin, retrieved the lid from the seat, and settled the tin in Ron's trunk. He quickly gathered the many scattered possessions, shoving everything back in, and clasped down the lid. He remembered then, to pick up Hermione's clothes from the carriage aisle, and placed them neatly into her meticulously arranged trunk. Harry hoisted all three trunks up into the luggage rack one at a time.

Still standing on the seat to secure his trunk, he reached over and lifted the cloth of Hedwig's cage to check on her. She cooed softly and nipped his finger gently in what seemed an almost maternal, reassuring way. He stroked her beak a couple times before letting the cloth drop back.

Harry stepped off the seat and picked up the pewter card base, where it stood still on the little drink ledge. He thought to slip it into his jeans pocket and remembered with a start the false Horcrux that already resided there. For an instant he wondered if he should retrieve the Dumbledore card so he could tell him about the locket and the mysterious R.A.B. But then he thought that there would, after all, be time yet for that discussion.

He shoved the card base into his other front pocket, slipped off his glasses, setting them on the drink ledge, stretched out across the bench seat of the compartment, and easily slipped into a peaceful slumber.

**NEXT**

Chapter Three

**Privet Perplexed**


	4. Privet Perplexed

Chapter Three

**Privet Perplexed**

"Harry, wake up, mate."

Harry opened his eyes to a fuzzy form with an unmistakable shock of red hair. He sat up, attempted to smooth back his unruly hair, reached for his glasses, and fit them in place.

"We're pulling into the station, so wake up already." Ron was muscling the trunks and cages down from the luggage rack and setting them into the aisle, not really seeing that Harry had already sat up.

"We came back here and found you sleeping," Ron said. "Hermione reckoned you were beat and could use a bit of a lie down, so we didn't wake you." Ron set Hedwig's and Pigwidgeon's cages on top of his trunk.

"Right, and I'll bet you two were busy with prefect duties the whole time, and never…say…snogging in the next compartment?" Harry shot Ron a knowing look. As happy as he was for his two best friends, he just wouldn't be Ron's proper mate if he didn't have him on about it some.

Ron leaned his head back from where he was shuffling the luggage in the aisle, and a broad, stupid grin filled his face. "I can't lie, Harry, there was a bit of snogging… maybe more than a bit, and…"

"Enough, Ron!" Harry exclaimed, "I may want to take the mickey out of you about it, but I don't really want to know!"

"Well, you asked!"

The train stopped with a slight lurch. Peering from the compartment window, Harry could see a small crowd of rather somber looking parents, gathering expectantly toward the forward passenger cars of the train.

He dropped open the window and stuck his head out. The air felt a bit heavy, and clouds had gathered in a grey blanket overhead. It looked like it would rain soon.

As the students began to file off the train, there were the typical hugs and smiles, but there was an uncharacteristic hurriedness about the scene as the families departed quickly.

Ron, being curious, joined Harry at the window. They saw Hermione ushering younger students from the carriages. Harry didn't have to see it to know that Ron was grinning broadly at the sight of his… 'girlfriend.' That was just grand, Harry thought, but he could tell it was going to take some getting used to.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley emerged hurriedly from the wrought-iron archway, which was the passage from platform nine and three-quarters to the Muggle station beyond. They saw Hermione at once and rushed to her, Mrs. Weasley gathering her into a long hug as Mr. Weasley patted her shoulder in an affectionate, fatherly way.

Harry could not hear them over the noises of the train and the platform, but as Hermione broke from the hug, she pointed toward them, and, seeing them with their heads out the window, she waved vigorously. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned and started toward them briskly.

Harry and Ron ducked back into the compartment and hurried out and around to the exit where Ron had piled the trunks and cages. They started transferring the luggage out onto the platform. The Weasley's, with Hermione in tow, reached them just as they were hefting down the third trunk.

Mrs. Weasley caught Ron up in a huge hug.

"Geroff – Mum," Ron protested, "Blimey, you hugged me when you saw us into the carriages at Hogwarts, just hours ago." Ron pulled away.

"I know dear," Molly Weasley exclaimed, "but it seems much longer." She stepped toward Harry, holding her arms open and smiling. Harry had become used to Mrs. Weasley's hugs over the years and, truthfully, he rather enjoyed them.

"Ginny didn't want to come?" Harry asked rather sheepishly.

"No, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied holding him at arms length and giving him a rather knowing smile. "She wanted to unpack and get settled, but you'll be over to The Burrow soon enough."

"Now then," Mr. Weasley's voice cut in, "Let's get off the platform and get you two delivered to your families." He motioned to Hermione and Harry.

"Oh, about that," Ron started, "Hermione and I…we were gonna go with Harry..."

Surprise played across the elder Weasleys' faces in unison, but before either could form a word in response, Harry cut in, "Oh, no, Ron…we're not doing that anymore."

Now it was Ron and Hermione whose faces registered surprise as they turned to Harry together. Before they could respond, Harry continued. "I'm not sure it would be wise to spring uninvited company on the Dursleys," Harry said, patting his front jeans pocket unobtrusively.

Hermione seemed to catch on immediately, and she smiled very slightly. "Okay, Harry," she blurted out, stepping closer to Ron and out of view of his parents she grabbed his forearm, to let him know to go along. "But you will owl us as soon as you get there?"

"Oh, yeah…right away," Harry offered. "Besides, it's not as if I'll be alone…" He hesitated at the slip, but quickly recovered. "I've got, Hedwig to keep me company." He gestured to the cage on his trunk.

"Right then," Mr. Weasley spoke in a preemptory tone as he rocked from heel to toe and back. "Ron, grab that trolley there." He pointed to an abandoned cart a few steps down the platform. "Now, let's get moving." His expression clearly communicated that he knew something was up, but was clueless as to what it was. He was obviously prepared to accept that it was one of those things between his children that he was not meant to understand, and left it at that.

As Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley ordered the luggage onto the trolley, Hermione approached Mrs. Weasley casually.

"Mrs. Weasley," she said in a low whisper. Molly turned to Hermione. "I was wondering about security…for Harry," Hermione whispered again. "Shouldn't there be Aurors here to meet him?"

Mrs. Weasley glanced around the station slowly, turning her head a little, and stepped closer patting Hermione's arm. "Oh, there is security here," she whispered back. "It's just that Harry is sort of on the outs with the Minister, so no one is supposed to be seen."

"Oh," Hermione responded quietly, sweeping the platform now, with her own eyes.

"Come along now... and don't you worry." Molly took Hermione's hand, hooking it on her arm and patting it gently, as she moved to follow her husband, who, with Ron and Harry, was nearly to the archway.

They walked together a few paces, when Mrs. Weasley spoke again, "So…Ginny said something very interesting when we got back to The Burrow…about yourself and Ronald?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she could feel all the blood leave her face. She gasped as together they stepped into the darkness of the passageway from the platform to the station beyond.

The small group weaved their way through the station with ease. Mr. Weasley, looking at all the lamps in King's Cross Station, had asked Harry to explain about "eckeltricity." The explanation, which Harry knew was lost on Mr. Weasley, nonetheless carried them through the station to the main entrance. As they approached, Harry noticed his aunt and uncle waiting uneasily near the main doors.

Harry waved the group to a halt a good three meters before they reached the Dursleys.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were glancing about the station and trying to look as though they were casually interested in the architecture. Harry knew they simply didn't wish to make eye contact with Mr. Weasley, whose encounters with the Dursley's had proved somewhat traumatic in the past.

"Right, then…" Mr. Weasley began, "I expect I ought to have a word with your aunt and uncle before you head off with them."

Harry could see by the way that his uncle's face was growing flushed that he had heard Mr. Weasley's words. "That's alright…" Harry stopped Mr. Weasley. "I am quite certain that I'll be treated just fine this visit."

Mr. Weasley looked over at the Dursleys, his face scrunched up in disapproval. He seemed to consider for a moment then let out a loud "Harrumph." He too could tell that Vernon Dursley was listening, and he hoped it was clear how the people who really cared for Harry felt about his treatment in the Dursley's home. Arthur looked back to Harry and smiled, "If you say so, Harry." Harry smiled appreciatively at this friendly, concerned man, and offered his hand in a sturdy handshake. "Well, you just let us know when you are ready to come home to The Burrow," Mr. Weasley added.

"I will, sir," Harry replied.

Just then, Hermione caught Harry round the shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. "You be sure and communicate, Harry…and soon."

Ron stepped up and offered his hand, which Harry shook vigorously before pulling him into a hug with him and Hermione. "I'll let you know what's happening right away. I've got loads to discuss with…well you know," Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione.

"You take care, mate, don't start any trouble," Ron blurted a bit too loudly, his eyes traveling over the Dursleys.

"Oh, you know me, Ron…I wouldn't do that without you." Harry grinned at them as he stepped back.

Harry retrieved Hedwig's cage and his trunk, and with a wave, he bid the group goodbye. With uneasy smiles, they were off to meet Hermione's parents at one of the other exits.

Harry turned and wordlessly followed his aunt and uncle out through the exit and to the car. As they pulled from the parking lot and onto the road, the sky finally gave up holding onto the rain and heavy droplets pelted the car. Uncle Vernon flipped on the wipers, and Harry listened to the rhythmic clapping for nearly ten minutes before his aunt and uncle finally started conversing tersely. Mostly, Uncle Vernon was complaining about what they were going to do with the boy now that he was back again.

By the time they arrived at Privet Drive, the rain was quite heavy, and it was rather dark. The clouds were blotting out what might have been a bright sunset. Vernon Dursley stepped from the car, opened his umbrella, and waddled around the front of the car to open the door for his wife, escorting Petunia to the house beneath his canopy. As he reached the front entry, he opened the car boot with its little remote on the key chain. Harry knew Uncle Vernon would not be returning with the umbrella, so he stepped into the rain and pulled Hedwig's cage from the seat next to him. He hauled his trunk out, closed the boot, and made his way to the door. Once inside he went directly up the stairs to the second bedroom.

Harry set Hedwig's cage on top of the small bureau, plopped his trunk at the foot of the single bed, and sat on it heavily. He glanced around the room. Nothing seemed to have been touched since the last time he was there. In fact, if it hadn't been for the distinct lack of dust, Harry would have sworn that not a soul had entered the room since the previous summer. He heaved a sigh…_Well,_ he thought, _At least it's only for a short visit this time._

After he'd let Hedwig out, cleaned her cage, unpacked, and changed into dry clothes, he felt a low rumble in his stomach and wondered if it would be okay to go down to the kitchen and look for some leftovers. Harry opened his bedroom door and listened at the hallway. He could hear the telly and an occasional chortle from Uncle Vernon, so he suspected it would be safe to slip down.

He crept quietly down the stairs and stopped in the hall; listening to be sure Uncle Vernon was completely occupied with his program. He heard a loud rumbling guffaw from the sitting room and slipped across the hall into the kitchen.

Harry stopped suddenly as he saw his Aunt Petunia at the kitchen sink, clad in apron and yellow rubber gloves, laboring to scour the bottom of a heavy roasting pan. She looked up as he entered the room, but didn't seem to react adversely at all, which surprised him. He glanced about the room quickly and noted that all was in absolute order…and not just clean, as was his fastidious aunt's insistent condition, but truly orderly. And then it hit him…there was no video game console hooked up to the telly in the dining room. In fact, there was no telly at all in the dining room. That could only mean one thing…Dudley was not at home.

"I suppose, you are hungry?" Aunt Petunia asked, indifferently.

"Yes I am," Harry said somewhat apologetically. "Perhaps there are a few leftovers?"

Petunia looked up from the sink and smiled very slightly. "I thought you would probably slip down to nick something, though I suspected it would be a little later. There's a plate in there for you." She tipped her head toward the fridge.

Harry was a little taken aback, he crossed to the fridge and indeed found a plate filled with a generous helping of roast beef, boiled potatoes, steamed carrots, and gravy, all neatly covered under a layer of cellophane. He had never before been offered so much food by his aunt. "Are you sure this is for me?" he asked hesitantly.

Aunt Petunia, who had finished with the roast pan and placed it neatly on the drying rack, slipped off her gloves and took the plate from Harry, who was still a little shocked. "Nonsense," she said, looking him up and down. "You have grown so much and you are still so thin." She pulled off the cellophane and placed the plate in the microwave. She covered it neatly with a paper towel and set the timer for two minutes. "Besides, with my Dudders still away at school, who else is going to eat it?" She retrieved a knife, fork, and napkin, setting them in front of Harry on the counter divides between the kitchen and dining room. She retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with milk from the fridge.

Harry was stunned, and almost tripped as he crossed the two steps to the counter. He pulled out a stool and sat at the place his Aunt had set with knife and fork, and he accepted the glass of milk with a gracious smile. The microwave chimed and Aunt Petunia fetched the plate, setting it in front of Harry. He ate rather quickly, wondering if his uncle would jump out and snatch the food away, making it all a cruel joke, but he could hear his uncle chuckling along with the laugh track in the other room.

Harry watched his aunt as she returned to the rack of dishes with a fresh dishtowel and began putting everything away. She seemed much more relaxed than he was used to, and he realized that the whole house felt much calmer somehow. It could only be, he thought, because his cousin wasn't back from Smeltings for the summer holidays yet. He had never considered what life in the Dursley home would be like without Dudley. "When does Dudley get home?" Harry asked quietly.

"What was that?" his aunt asked as she looked over from the pantry where she was straightening the shelves. "Oh, Dudders will be home next Saturday," she said, her voice brightening. "Vernon and I will drive up to fetch him from school." Petunia frowned slightly, and Harry took it to mean she wasn't interested in conversing with him.

Harry finished his plate quietly as his aunt puttered around the kitchen. She seemed to be preparing a stock list in front of the open pantry, and even inspected the contents of both the fridge and freezer. He took his soiled dishes to the sink and washed them carefully. He dried them with the towel his aunt had used, set them away in the cupboards, and put the towel neatly back on its hook. "I'll just be off to my room now," he said.

"Okay," Aunt Petunia muttered distractedly.

Harry slipped out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs when he heard his name called behind him. He turned and his aunt was standing at the base of the stairs looking up at him. "Harry…" she spoke again somewhat hesitantly. "I am sorry about the death of your Headmaster…I know, you were very fond of him…and, him of you."

Harry's jaw gaped open. It hadn't occurred to him that his aunt would know about Dumbledore's death. He realized suddenly that the Dursley's must have had some kind of communication from Hogwarts just to know to pick him up two weeks early at the station. He stared down at his aunt, not knowing what to say.

"Well, good night, Harry." The corners of Aunt Petunia's mouth bent upward slightly in what Harry assumed was an attempted smile. She turned, but then stopped and looked up at him again. "Harry…if you please, there is a certain matter I should like to discuss with you…perhaps tomorrow?"

If Harry had been stunned in the kitchen, he was now completely unsure if he was even in the right house. "Um…yes, of–of course," he stammered in response.

"Good night, then." Aunt Petunia stepped out of sight, back toward the kitchen.

Harry shut his bedroom door and leaned back on it heavily. He hadn't expected civility. True, his uncle had complained in the car, and had wordlessly made him lug his trunk in the rain, but his aunt had actually been nice to him. Well, polite anyway. He didn't know what to think.

What a day it had been. He could hardly believe that he had awoken early that morning to pack before facing a subdued and mournful breakfast in the Great Hall at Hogwarts Castle. He had attended his Headmaster's funeral that very morning, but that seemed somehow ages ago now. His hand slid to the hip of his jeans and he felt the shape of the bar of pewter in his pocket. It didn't seem so much like Dumbledore was really gone.

Harry breathed several calming deep breaths and pushed himself off the door. Hedwig had returned to her cage and was hooting appreciatively as she preened in her clean space. Harry crossed to the window and closed it against the steady rain still falling outside. He petted Hedwig gently along her back and promised to let her out again soon.

Harry wasn't particularly tired, having napped on the train, so he retrieved a quill and inkwell from his trunk, as well as a few sheaves of parchment, and sat down, determined to write Hermione her promised letter.

Harry smoothed the parchment on the desktop and dipped his quill in ink. He rubbed the feather end against his forehead as he thought, and then he began writing:

_Hermione,_

I am here and safe at Privet Drive. Everything is fine. It turns out that Dudley isn't home from school for another week so the house is quiet. It is a bit perplexing really, I've never seen the Dursleys so calm. My Aunt actually fixed me a plate this evening, and it was good, not the usual tinned meat or soup. Then she said she wants to talk to me about something. I haven't the faintest idea what it could be.

I am sorry to have changed plans on you and Ron like that at the station, but I could see you got it right away. Thank you. This way you can have the time with your parents, and I will see you at The Burrow before very long.

Please don't worry about me. I know I should be mourning, but I have other things on my mind just now. I will not have time for loneliness during this time I have to spend with the Dursleys. I promise I will stay occupied.

I know you will want to try to help by doing research, but I think it is better to not worry about the future right now and concentrate on your own family. Somehow I now believe that there will be time enough for worry later.

Know that, for now, all is well. I promise to write again soon.

Harry.

Harry read through the letter a number of times checking to see if there was anything questionable there should it be intercepted. He decided finally that there was not, so he set it aside and wrote a second, nearly identical, letter to Ron. When he was satisfied that its content was also safe, he set it aside as well and smoothed out yet another piece of parchment. He dipped his quill again, and stared down at the smooth surface of the unblemished sheet. This next letter, he thought, was going to be hard. He touched his quill to the page and gently scratched out the beginning.

_Dear Ginny,_

He looked at the words on the parchment and felt the odd stirring of that creature that seemed to live inside him. He began writing, starting over several times and seriously diminishing his supply of parchment. Finally, after filling his dustbin with crumpled drafts he settled on what he felt would be safe to send.

_Dear Ginny,_

I wished you had come on the train with us today. Something happened that I so want to share with you. I have sent Ron a letter, and I told him it is okay to tell you about the train. But there will be much more to share when I come to The Burrow.

I know what I said at the funeral hurt you terribly. You seemed so understanding. That made it so much harder to do. I hope that you can forgive me for hurting you?

I was afraid…I am afraid, for you. I do not know exactly what's coming, except that my future will be dangerous. The thought of subjecting you to that scares me, even though I know that you would brave anything. I just don't want for you to have to.

I have so much I want to say to you, so much to try to explain. This morning I felt one way, but so much has happened and I am no longer sure.

I think I was wrong. I hope you will forgive me… and forget what I said at the funeral.

Please,

Harry

Harry carefully folded and tightly coiled the three letters, tying them securely with bits of parcel string, except for the one for Ginny, which he tied with a piece of red ribbon he had scavenged from inside his trunk, left from some Christmas present he suspected. He looked out the window to see that the rain had slowed to the barest drizzle. He opened it, breathing in the cool sweet smell of the rain-scrubbed air. Hedwig stirred and hooted at the breeze.

"Are you ready for a flight, Hedwig?" Harry asked. In answer Hedwig bounded from her perch out onto the bureau, and soared smoothly to the windowsill. Harry secured the letters to her leg with a leather tie, and ran his hand down her back. He explained where each letter went and to whom then he added, "I would really rather they are not intercepted, so you be alert." Hedwig moved her head quickly and hooted at him in an insulted tone. "I'm sorry," Harry responded, "But I worry about you, you know." Hedwig, cooed apologetically, nudged Harry's arm lightly, and then launched herself into the moonless night. Harry watched her flap quickly away and out of sight before he closed the window.

Turning back from the window, Harry went to the bureau, pulled out a pair of clean pajamas, and made his way down the hall to the loo. In a few short minutes he was ready for bed. He emptied the contents of his jeans' pockets, the fake Horcrux from one, and the pewter base from another, climbed into bed, lifted his pillow, and stashed the locket beneath. With a pull on the chain of his bedside lamp, he sent the room into darkness. Harry turned the base around in his fingers, feeling its smooth edges and raised letters. He wondered for a moment where he had stashed his collection of Chocolate Frog Cards, but recalled seeing them in the bottom of his trunk, bound by a Muggle rubber band. He fell asleep quickly, still clutching the base in his hand.

It had been a very full day.

**NEXT**

Chapter Five

**Draco Displaced**


	5. Draco Displaced

Chapter Five

**Draco Displaced**

Narcissa Malfoy winced at the sound of her son's screams. She pulled her body along the smooth granite of the throne room floor. She had to reach Draco. The need was desperate and it drove her beyond the limits of her broken body. Something was wrong inside her–she could feel it. Her head hurt, her vision was blurry, her hearing muffled. Searing pain bit her consciousness with every centimeter she managed to crawl.

The Dark Lord was doing something to Draco, something painful and terrible. Voldemort stepped away and she could not clearly hear what he was saying. Something about the station to which he was born… and… Coward. Voldemort was calling Draco a coward.

Narcissa could no longer understand any of this. The truth was, she never had. Her husband's ambitions and greed had taken her family down this path…

And for what?

Lucius was a prisoner in Azkaban, a confirmed Death-Eater, sentenced for life. And Draco, their only son, was paying a terrible price for the Malfoy failures under the yoke of the Dark Lord.

_If Draco was a coward it was his father's fault, _she thought. _And… my failure too... for never questioning Lucius' actions._

She pulled hard along the floor, willing herself forward, despite the pain. She knew that the Death-Eaters would do nothing unless the Dark Lord ordered it, and so she forced herself closer, past them, toward her son.

Narcissa wanted to yell but her lungs rasped, refusing to hold enough air to utter sound.

The Dark Lord slashed at her sons face with his wand. Bright orange sparks flashed brilliant against Draco's flesh, and as Voldemort turned away, she heard that word again; COWARD!

Draco fell to the floor, like a marionette, suddenly loosed from its strings. Narcissa reached him and pulled his body into her arms against her chest. He was limp, but she detected his shallow labored breathing. She could feel the blood of his wounds soaking the front of her robes as she held him tight.

"I am done with you both," Voldemort's voice was loud and angry… hateful.

Narcissa raised her eyes defiantly, as violet light erupted from the tip of Voldemort's wand. There was a wrenching pull at the center of her being and she felt suddenly as though she were spinning off that pull. There was a burning flash of what seemed like lightless flame and the room disappeared. She clung to her son, closing her eyes against the dizziness that followed the spinning sensation.

The whirling persisted for what seemed a long time. She felt nauseous, but clung to her son, crushing him desperately tight in her clasped arms.

She felt the spinning begin to slow and the black-violet fog that was thick around them was fading green. Then, suddenly, everything was still and the world seemed bright in her eyes. The air was heavy and thick and fragrant with an Earthy rich under-scent. Her sight cleared and she could see a hundred shades of green as the shapes of trees and leaves filled her field of vision. The sun streamed down through a thick blanket of lush foliage.

Narcissa had never seen anything like this place. Her mind came up with a single word to identify it… _Jungle…_ but the wildness of that word sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She felt her body giving way to unconsciousness, and she squeezed Draco in her arms to reassure herself that he was there.

And then the blackness consumed her

Draco Malfoy stirred. He felt something tugging very gently at his hair. As awareness seeped into his consciousness, he felt weak, and sore, as though his whole body was stiff… hardened somehow. He moaned at the brightness intruding through his closed eyelids, but didn't wish to open his eyes. As the fog of his mind cleared he registered strange sounds, birds; not the hoots of owls or the familiar caw of crows, but twitters and chirps, lighter and delighted. He could also hear splashing water, and oddest of all, the giggling laughter of children.

Draco opened his eyes. There was a child, tugging gently at his hair. A young girl, perhaps three or four years old, was coiling his white blonde hair around her small stubby brown fingers. The child's face was broad and round and chestnut brown, and she had black hair, fine and straight shimmering like silk down her back. Her brown, nearly black, eyes shined with innocence and wonder as she examined him intently. She smiled wide at him and giggled delightedly at the sight of Draco's pale gray eyes.

Draco's confusion deepened. Where was he, how long had he been here, and how did he get to wherever _here_ was? He was truly surprised that he was waking up at all, and so the incongruousness of his surroundings didn't seem to register. He merely smiled at the girl and closed his eyes again.

Images welled in Draco's mind, his body broken and bleeding… pain beyond tolerance, and the grotesque, serpentine face of Lord Voldemort, the narrow slit nostrils, the red, cat-like eyes, cruel and pitiless. Draco remembered, slowly, letting it wash over him.

Severus Snape had completed his task; he had been the one to kill Albus Dumbledore when Draco had hesitated. Then he had dragged Draco out of Hogwarts Castle. They had run, pursued by Harry Potter, to the entrance of the Hogwarts grounds and there they Apparated away. It had taken four separate Apparations, to arrive at the designated place, but they had made it. At first, Draco had thought this would mean safety, but he soon learned how punctilious the Dark Lord was.

The place appeared to be a very small open grove in an otherwise dark forest, but Draco had felt the hard stone at his feet. In the dim light of dawn he had noted the stones set in the ground in a circular pattern. A hooded Death-Eater had stepped forward from the shadows of the wood and held up what appeared to be the dry, fallen branch of a tree. Snape had taken it from the hooded figure and told Draco to grasp it. Amycus, Alecto and Fenrir Greyback each grabbed the branch as well and the five of them swirled away at the tug of the Portkey. Draco slammed hard against a cold stone floor and was hastily jerked up to his feet by Greyback.

The five of them stood before enormous doors, troll-sized double doors of carefully worked metals, entirety decorated in relief, the whole comprising a depiction of the violent mastery of all the known thinking races by one lone wizard. Giants, trolls dwarves, elves, centaurs, humans, and all manner of what Muggles would call mythical creatures were cowering at the feet of one all-powerful wizard. Draco scarcely had time to take in the images as the doors, groaned and creaked, pulling themselves open, inward on heavy iron hinges.

The Dark Lord was seated on a large throne at the opposite end of the room. He beckoned them to approach with a wave of his hand.

They had stepped forward as Voldemort rose from his seat. They reached the center of the room, some two or three meters before the Dark Lord, and dropped to their knees, each laying their wand on the stone before them. Voldemort approached, first stepping to the brother and sister Death-Eaters. He quietly commanded that they look up at him, and as they did he seemed to examine their faces at length, looking hard into their eyes. He flicked his wand whispering the incantation "Ligilimens" and the two gasped a hard protracted intake of air. There were no words spoken thereafter, but clearly Voldemort was extracting the evening's events.

After a minute Voldemort drew his wand away and the two slumped forward, bowing their heads. He placed his sickly gray, spidery hand on Amycus' shoulder.

"Amycus, Alecto, Fenrir, You have served me well and faithfully this night, join the circle, my Death-Eaters." The three had hastily retrieved their wands and backed quickly into the circle of cowled figures.

The Dark Lord had then stepped toward Draco and Snape. He seemed to ignore Draco, approaching Snape directly.

"Severus, my most valued servant…" his tone was oily, but betrayed no hint of emotion or intent, "How could you let this happen?" The Dark Lord did not wait for an answer, nor did Snape offer one. "The task was for the boy to complete… or to fail."

Voldemort raised his wand at Snape and cried, "Crucio!" A green light leapt from the Dark Lord's wand, engulfing Snape, who collapsed to the floor writhing in torturous pain. In a panic Draco leapt from his place, retreating away, but was caught and held fast by Fenrir Greyback.

"Did you think I did not know of Narcissa's request?" Voldemort's eyes glistened with delight as Snape's body contorted and twisted on the ground. "Did you think I really wanted Dumbledore dead?"

A scream escaped Snape's lips, such as Draco had not thought humanly possible.

"You entered into an unbreakable vow… which guaranteed your betrayal… And why?… To assuage the doubts of your fellow Death-Eaters… to prove your faithfulness to me…" Voldemort raised his wand and Snape rose from the floor, his body still twisting impossibly, jerking and seizing violently.

The Dark Lord stopped. Snape's body crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. He was unconscious…or dead. Voldemort stepped near, crouching next to Snape. With an uncharacteristic tenderness he gently brushed a lock of slick hair out of Severus' face.

"You were my most trusted servant… my most guarded spy… Is it possible that all this time you have been capable of deceiving me, your Lord… and Master?"

Voldemort looked confused, his voice a soft whisper. After a long pause, while the Dark Lord seemed to be staring at Snape… considering him carefully, his face changed, confidence flaming in his eyes, he spoke again, "No… That is simply impossible." A grin slithered across the Dark Lord's lips as he stood.

"Remove them from my sight," he commanded imperiously, and Death-Eaters stepped forward to carry Severus and Draco away.

Greyback pushed Draco roughly from the room and escorted him down a long hall. They came to a broad spiraling staircase and descended several floors to a plain, thick wooden door. It was pulled open and beyond appeared to be several small rooms along a narrow damp corridor. Draco was unceremoniously tossed into one of these. He sat for a long time, shaking with fear, until exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep in a heap on the floor.

Sometime later he was awoken roughly and dragged back before the Dark Lord. Voldemort had not demanded an explanation, or even offered to hear Draco's pleas for understanding. He was simply forced to the floor and magically bound… and tortured.

Draco winced at the memory, the taunting, the whipping, the violation of his mind… and the mark.

Draco pushed himself up suddenly. He had been lying on a grass mat on a wooden floor, in some sort of open walled hut. There was a thatched roof above him. He glanced around frantically. The skin of his back felt sore, but he ignored it.

The little girl jumped back from him, surprised, but not really frightened.

"Who are you? Where am I?" he demanded.

The little girl looked at him wide eyed and said "Nuncha."

Draco had no understanding at all what her word meant. It might have been a name. He pushed himself up to his feet and stumbled toward the edge of the wooden floor. His legs protested painfully as he tried to navigate the few steps to a crude wooden stair. He leaned heavily on a support pole and launched himself down the two steps.

He found himself falling face-first into the dirt. It was moist and cool against his skin. He pushed himself again noticing now that there were other huts clustered in a semi circle around a flat worn patch of land with a stone fire-pit at its center. There were people too, perhaps twenty, women and children, all of the same coloring as the little girl. They were noticing him, pointing and shouting to one another in a language that Draco could not understand. None seemed to be approaching.

On his feet again, Draco staggered across the flat ground toward the sound of falling water. He plunged down a worn path, clutching at tree trunks to steady himself as he slowly gained better command of his legs. He emerged from the path into a wide opening. There before him was a tall narrow waterfall, cascading into a pool of crystalline water. Here there were more people scattered about on large boulders at the waters edge and some in the water itself. These were, it seemed, mostly young girls, none older than himself. At another time he might have gapped at their nakedness in surprise, but as they clustered in the water away from him, shouting and pointing, he simply turned away moving toward the boulders at the waters edge.

Clamoring across the sun-warmed rocks, Draco sought a place amongst the stones where the water would be still and reflective. Beneath the shade of a large clutch of trees at the waters edge, he found it. He leaned down low against the rock, staring into the still water, and there it was. Cutting a jagged "X" across his face was the yellow stain that the Dark Lord had called the ancient mark of the coward.

Draco lifted his head skyward and screamed bayfuly, "No!"

He got to his hands and knees, still peering down at his own, now unfamiliar, face and began to sob.

There was movement behind him. He turned suddenly to face whatever it was and he was struck dumb at the sight of young woman. She was perhaps his age, within a year, two at most. Like the young girl at the hut, she was the rich deep brown of roasted chestnuts. She was dripping wet and wearing only a small drape of tanned leather across her hips. Her long black, wet hair, hugged her torso covering her breasts. Her face was pleasantly heart shaped with full cheeks, a small round nose and broad nostrils. She had a wide friendly smile, beneath shining black eyes. She spoke, but again Draco could not understand her words.

Instinctively, Draco launched himself back and toppled into the cool water with a splash.  
He got to his feet sputtering in the waist deep water. He was aware suddenly of his own near nakedness, realizing that he was stripped to only his boxer shorts. He erupted in goose flesh in the coolness of the shaded pool.

The girl was giggling at him and shouting at her companions.

"Go away," he yelled, and tried to wave her away. She stepped closer, considering him intently now.

She reached down and grasped an amber stone, which hung from a thong of leather at her hip. She deftly loosed its tie and raised it toward him, pointing. She spoke something, words clear and forceful, but still unfamiliar to Draco. A stream of yellow-gold light sparked from its tip and Draco felt a warm sensation wash over him. It felt as though a heated viscous liquid were dripping over his forehead, it seemed to encase his head and neck for a moment and then dissipate leaving a loud ringing in his ears. The rigging was slowly quieting.

Draco starred up at the girl in disbelief. This girl… this was a witch… a magical person like himself… but, nothing like himself. She deftly slung the stone back at her hip.

"You hear me now?" She said. "You understand my words?" Her voice was soft and cheerful, lyrical in his ears. His eyes widened with both recognition and disbelief.

"Come," she said, "Come." She stepped nearer the boulder edge and extended her hand toward him.

Hesitantly, still looking at her in wonder, Draco reached up and took her hand. As her flesh contacted his there was a pulse of something, like a beating of tiny insect wings along his arm and into his chest. It was gone before Draco could even properly consider it.

She pulled at him, helping him up onto the stone. He could hear the others giggling and it sounded to him distinctly like the twittering gossip of girls in the corridors at Hogwarts. He stood now next to this strangely beautiful girl. They were a study in contrast, she dark and exotic deep brown flesh, shining black hair and wide dark, dark eyes, and, he, pale pinkish flesh, with white-blonde hair and light gray eyes. He was a half head taller than her, as they stood, dripping on the shaded stone.

He moved to release her hand, but she held on, stepping away, guiding him cautiously across the boulders. He followed. Her hand was distinctly warm in his, the flesh of her fingers rougher than those of girls he had toyed with at Hogwarts, but pleasant and somehow reassuring.

They stepped to the path and started back toward the huts. The crowd of girls behind them were laughing and teasing with shouts that Draco was only half listening to. She blushed and smiled, and he smiled back at her as she led him away, up the path.

He noticed the lushness of this place now, the green everywhere, the softness of the earth beneath his feet, even on the well-worn path. The cool water had relieved much of the stiffness in his legs, but the pain of his back was still there. They moved quietly along the leaf canopied path and he began to notice the sounds of the place again, the twittering birds and shrieks of other animals in the trees around them. He looked up and noticed small dark monkeys leaping from limb to limb overhead.

"What is this place?" he asked finally.

She stopped, turning to him, her eyes bright and sparkling. She gestured around herself with her free hand. "This is our world," she said with a smile. She could see that the answer was not enough for him. "The land of the Spirit People," she offered.

"The Spirit People?" he repeated inquisitively.

"Yes, the Spirit People," she said mater-of-factly as if no other explanation should be necessary.

Draco sensed that this was her understanding of the place and so he didn't pursue it. "And, what is your name?" he asked.

"I am Titchi," she said with a half giggle. "I am daughter of the Shaman, Watcher of the Word."

"Titchi," he repeated letting the simple two-syllable name echo in his mind. He smiled at her warmly, something that he felt his face was quite unaccustomed to. She smiled up at him shyly, suppressing another giggle and started up the path again tugging at his hand.

"Where is my Mother?" Draco asked Titchi, as the throng of people swarmed around him.

The people had approached as he and Titchi had emerged from the jungle path minutes before. They all, especially the children, seemed to want to touch him. It was momentarily disconcerting, but Draco realized that he was simply so different from them, and they were obviously curious. They were laughing and giggling, and some of them seemed to be saying words of welcome. He realized that he could only understand Titchi, her spell apparently only working between the two of them.

"They wish to know your name?" Titchi said, she was being tugged at too and apparently asked many questions.

"My name is Draco," he said, "Draco Malfoy."

"Dracho Malpoy," Titchi repeated awkwardly.

"Dray-co… Maal-foy," he said again slowly and a bit more loudly. She repeated his name once more, slowly, coming much closer with the second attempt. She turned to share this information with several women that were now surrounding her.

"Just call me Draco." He said finally as he heard his name being pronounced poorly throughout the group now, and he began to laugh a little, the group laughing easily with him. He felt a gentle tug at the edge of his boxers and he looked down into the face of the little girl who had been at the hut where he had awakened.

"Dracho," she said, smiling at him, and held out her arms, obviously wanting him to pick her up. He was aware suddenly that normally he would have found this whole scene rather repugnant. He shook the thought from his mind. That didn't seem to be how he felt at the moment, these people were friendly and welcoming and he suppressed the notion that he should feel any particular way about them. He bent down and took the girl into his arms, pulling her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck with a smile and was saying something very animatedly.

Titchi was there again. "This is Nuncha," she said, gesturing to the girl in Draco's arms. "She says she is very glad that you woke up. And she likes your hair very much."

The girl was curling Draco's hair around her fingers again. Titchi pulled Nuncha away into her own arms and said something to her that Draco did not understand. The girl clearly frowned as she was set back to the ground, but she hurried away none-the-less.

"Nuncha, is my little sister," Titchi said turning back to Draco, "Come," she took his hand again, "You are still healing, we must get you back to the hut where you can be still."

Draco allowed himself to be led a few feet, the gathering villagers moving with him, still reaching for him gently. Then the question had again occurred to him.

"Where is my Mother?" he repeated, this time more insistently.

Titchi Lead Draco toward a large raised hut. This structure was different from the surrounding huts of the village; it had solid wooden walls, made of rough-hewn planks. The seams where the planks butted together were sealed with some sort of thick tar, or tree sap mixed with mud. The door and windows were draped with sheets of leather. As they approached, Draco noticed smoke rising through the peak of the heavily thatched roof.

"My mother is in there?" he questioned as they came near the steps.

"Yes," Titchi replied.

As they ascended the steps, Draco thought that it must be sweltering inside this closed hut, but as Titchi drew back the leather drape and he stepped inside he found it was definitely cooler. He realized that a simple cooling charm would do this, and he wondered what the extent of magic was within this unique community.

Once inside, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of several low fires burning along a stone trough running through the center of the room. There were several earthen vessels suspended above the fires, each simmering with various colors of liquid. From all of the wooden beams there hung bunches of dried plants, and the air was full of fumes of various smoky and floral scents. Along one wall there were numerous clay pots of many shapes and sizes, some with lids of clay, or simple flats of wood that lay across their tops. There were also cages of woven wood containing small animals of several types.

Across the room at the far end there was a low platform upon which laid Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco stood still, watching his mother's still form for some movement, which he could not detect. He felt Titchi's warm hand on his arm.

"Go to her," she urged, nudging him forward. "It is alright, she sleeps."

**NEXT**  
Chapter Five  
**Life and Learning at Privet Drive**


	6. Life and Learning at Privet Drive

Chapter Five  
**Life and Learning at Privet Drive**

Thursday, five days later, Harry sat still on the edge of his bed, his arms at his sides, his feet comfortably flat on the floor. He was completely silent; not humming, not chanting under his breath — nothing. His mind was blank, filled only with a lightness and calm, as if he were floating in nothingness.

"Very good, Harry," voiced the Dumbledore card, breaking the silence. "Very good."

The sound reached Harry as though through a light fog, but it was enough to slowly bring into focus the world around him. He opened his eyes and the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive, his present sanctuary, came into focus. Light was streaming in through the window and he felt the warmth of the sun on his flesh.

"What were you feeling just then, Harry?" came the question from where the card was sitting, in its pewter base on his desk, the image of Dumbledore eyeing him intently.

"I was feeling… nothing, really. It was just a void, I suppose. Silent… white," Harry replied, struggling a little to put the feeling into words.

"And for how long did you feel this?" Dumbledore asked.

"Only moments, sir."

"Good… very good," the card praised him. "Now look around you and tell me how long."

Harry glanced at the sunbeams coming through the window and then to the clock on the bureau. The time was a quarter past noon.

"Over two hours?" he exclaimed. "How could that be, sir? It seemed to be no time at all!"

"You are taking to meditation very nicely, Harry. It is a valuable discipline; these exercises will help you greatly in the study of Occlumency." Dumbledore paused and sighed. "We shall have to find you a true teacher soon - I am afraid all I can do for you at present is to guide you through these exercises of mental discipline."

"Why did Snape never give me anything like this to do, sir?" Harry questioned.

"I suspect, Harry, that Professor—" he stressed the title, "—Snape found it necessary many years ago, due to certain hardships, to protect his mind. I think he did so, in a way by simply muting out much of his humanity and has, sadly, very little wealth of emotion that he must hide in order to successfully Occlude."

"No strong emotions? How can that be true? He hated my dad and his friends!"

"That's true, Harry," Dumbledore responded. "I am not saying that Severus does not feel things strongly, but rather that his emotional range is somewhat narrow. The emotions he tends to feel acutely are jealousy, envy, hatred… I have a feeling that it is the nature of his emotions that make him such a formidable Occlumens.

"Hatred is a powerful emotion — almost impossible to conceal from an accomplished Legilimens — but it is also a slippery, cloudy emotion, and easily twisted and disguised. Purer emotions; love, grief, happiness, are far more difficult to belie. Hatred, by its very nature, obscures itself easily in deceit and partial truths."

After an audible breath, Dumbledore continued, "Professor Snape's success at Occlumency lies less in preventing someone from accessing his thoughts, and more in his ability to adapt and shape his thoughts to what he wishes the Legilimens to see." He paused for a moment, looking contemplative. "I suppose that what he practices is not even true Occlumency — true Occlumency entails building strong mental barriers, not dealing in deceit."

His tone lightened. "And in order to do that, you must learn how to make your mind first blank, and then a protected place, hence these meditative exercises. And as I said, I am extremely pleased with your progress!" He smiled, his eyes crinkling at their edges beneath his half moon spectacles.

On Harry's first morning at Privet Drive, he had awoken from a deep and peaceful sleep. His dreams, if he had dreamed at all, had been pleasant and calming — not the type of dreams that linger in your consciousness or wake you in distress.

Upon waking, Harry had immediately retrieved a Dumbledore card from his collection, set it in the enchanted base and greeted his former headmaster. They talked at length about the events of the previous evening at Privet Drive, and Harry had asked whether Dumbledore had any idea what Aunt Petunia could wish to talk to him about. The card, however, could provide no insight, and so they concluded that Harry would have to wait for his aunt to raise the issue again. They were interrupted then, by a sharp knock on the door and his aunt's shrill voice summoning Harry to breakfast.

It being a Sunday morning, Harry could hear his Uncle Vernon in the sitting room listening to a political program, with a nasal sounding commentator going on about Parliament something-or-other.

Again, Aunt Petunia had prepared him a plate, this time kept warm in the oven: sausages and kippers, toast with jam and scrambled eggs. Harry sat on the same stool he'd used the night before and thankfully ate as he listened to his aunt puttering in the dining room behind him and spritzing plants with a spray bottle in the adjoining patio sun room. He finished and washed his dishes as before and then stepped quietly around to the patio.

Harry stood silently in the narrow doorway for a moment and then softly and politely spoke, "Aunt Petunia?" She turned to him, her face expressionless. "I was wondering if there was anything you needed help with?"

"No," she replied, then after a short pause, added, "but perhaps you would do a bit of weeding in the garden later this afternoon?"

"I'll do that," Harry agreed. And, as she turned back to the plants she was tending to with her garishly gloved hands, he considered the conversation concluded and returned to his room.

Upon reaching his room Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for Dumbledore to appear on the face of the Chocolate Frog card. When he did, after only a few moments, the two of them began the conversation that Harry had been looking forward to the least — the one in which he would explain the circumstances of Dumbledore's death.

After a few encouraging words and reassurances from the card, Harry recounted the tale — beginning with his summons to the Headmaster's office. In as much detail as he could, he recalled his encounter with Professor Trelawney, her sherry bottles and the Room of Requirement. He continued, uninterrupted, to his anger at learning that Snape had been the one to reveal the prophecy to Voldemort, and the way in which he had yelled at Dumbledore, lost in his fury. The Dumbledore card made small noises of understanding at times, but did not interrupt.

Harry told of how he had asked Ron and Hermione to patrol the hallways and watch out for Malfoy and Snape. How he had given them the vial of Felix Felicis and asked them to share it with whatever D.A. members they could round up to help. Then he recounted going to the cave.

The memories flooded back as Harry recalled the chilling cold breeze of the sea and the salt air, as he described swimming into the cave, and Dumbledore's careful inspection of its interior, finding the hidden passage and then opening it with blood.

Harry described the interior chamber and moving along the lake edge to find the hidden boat on its chain, and mentioned his attempt to use the Summoning Charm. He told of seeing the Inferi beneath the water as the boat approached the island and of how Dumbledore had determined to drink the potion from the stone basin, insisting that Harry ensure that he completed the task.

The first cracks in Harry's voice came as he described his feelings while forcing Dumbledore to drink the potion. How he lied in response to Dumbledore's pleadings and pushed the eighth and ninth goblets upon him, how he could not get the goblet to remain full of water as Dumbledore begged of him and how the Inferi began to attack when, in his desperation, he drew water from the lake.

As completely as he could, Harry described their escape: how Dumbledore fought off the Inferi with fire and how, once they had reached the mouth of the cave, Harry had been able to Apparate them back to Hogsmeade.

Tears finally began to fall as Harry described the Dark Mark; Rosmerta appearing and pointing it out to them, and their desperate flight to the castle on borrowed brooms.

Harry had to slow down as he retold his witnessing of the encounter with Malfoy from beneath his Invisibility Cloak — frozen there by Dumbledore's Freezing Charm — and of the arrival of the other Death Eaters, and how Snape had finally come and taken Dumbledore's life with Avada Kedavra.

There were several pauses, through which the Dumbledore card remained patient and encouraging, as Harry recounted the battle with the Death Eaters, chasing Snape out onto the grounds and dueling with him fruitlessly; Hagrid's hut burning and then discovering the false Horcrux, and the note from the mysterious R.A.B. It was here that the Dumbledore card finally reacted, with a sudden gasp of what Harry thought was enlightened surprise — the sort of gasp that comes as you discover the last hidden piece of a puzzle — but he bade Harry continue nonetheless.

Harry described the aftermath of the battle and the comparing of stories in the Infirmary around Bill Weasley's bedside, where they heard Fawkes' mourning song, and then of being questioned by Professor McGonagall, but refusing to tell her where they had been that night. He spoke of his feelings of loss and the sense of the weight of the world settling upon him in the days following. Finally, he spoke of the beautiful funeral attended by so many.

Until this telling, even when he had told the story to Ron and Hermione - and some of it to Ginny - Harry had not relived these events so fully. Somehow in this telling, the full truth of it all came crashing upon him and he finally felt the complete weight of the loss of his Headmaster — and despite the presence of Dumbledore, embodied in the Chocolate Frog card, Harry knew that the great wizard would never again truly be his protector. Even his lingering anger at Snape was displaced by the sudden, overwhelming grief.

Harry sobbed heavily; not even the caring reassurances in Dumbledore's own familiar voice could assuage the tide of Harry's mourning tears. It was as if all of his pain of loss had come crashing in upon him, and it was not only for Dumbledore that he cried, but for his parents, and for Sirius; and for the Muggle, Frank Bryce, for Bertha Jorkins and for Cedric Diggory, whose 'shades' had appeared from Voldemort's wand during the _Priori Incantatem._

When, after a few minutes, the card's attempts at reassurance still had not stemmed the tears, Dumbledore seemed to realize the importance of this purging and became respectfully silent and supportive. Finally, Harry cried himself to sleep upon the bed.

After about an hour Harry awoke. He stretched lazily and let out a satisfied groan as he extended his arms above his head and forced the sleep from his muscles. He sat up and looked over at the Dumbledore card, suddenly remembering that he had told the story of Dumbledore's death and had been overcome with grief and tears. He was a little embarrassed, but at the same time he felt good, freed somehow of some of the weight that he had lately felt so heavily upon himself.

The image of Dumbledore returned to the card and smiled at Harry. "Feeling better?" Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded, looking quite refreshed. "Then I believe we have much to discuss. And I am quite certain you have many questions as well."

For another hour, they discussed the particulars of the events of that final evening. Now that his grief had dissipated somewhat, Harry's anger at Snape had returned, and his main concern was the man's role in Dumbledore's death. Dumbledore, however, made it clear that the matter would not be discussed. After another angry outburst from Harry, he sighed wearily.

"It would seem, in light of recent events, that I may have been overzealous in my protection of Severus Snape. However—" he held up a hand to silence Harry's objections, "—I am not yet ready to admit that I was wholly wrong, either. I must reflect upon the matter…" His tone was firm and brooked no argument, and Harry reluctantly dropped the subject.

Instead, they turned the conversation towards Harry's plans, and his preparation and training for destroying the Horcruxes, and eventually defeating the Dark Lord. He had discovered on the train that he was, in Dumbledore's opinion, being rather too hasty in his plans.

"There are many things I would like you to learn before you face Voldemort, Harry," the card stated earnestly. "For instance, I should like you to continue your study of Occlumency. And there is much regarding the wielding of power that I should like us to discuss."

"Occlumency," Harry's tone was flat and his expression somewhat less than enthusiastic. "But, Professor, I tried that, and it didn't amount to anything."

"I am afraid, Harry, that once again I must admit fault in that situation," the Dumbledore card said apologetically. "I felt that Severus Snape would be best qualified to teach you and, at the time, I thought that perhaps your dislike of Severus was preventing you from learning. For that assumption, I apologize." The card considered Harry for a moment. "But as that appears not to have been the case, I would like for us to take a different approach to teaching you before we abandon the discipline altogether."

Just then Harry heard his name called from the bottom of the steps. He excused himself and hurried down to a light lunch, again kept for him by Aunt Petunia.

As promised, after lunch Harry spent several hours in the back garden pulling weeds and tending plantings as tersely directed by his aunt. It was not at all unpleasant work and it afforded him a welcome opportunity to consider the events of the morning.

By late afternoon Harry was feeling a bit dirty and sweaty and, after seeking consent from his aunt, he went to take a shower and afterward returned to his room.

As Harry entered the little second bedroom, still dragging a towel over his hair, he was greeted by Hedwig tapping lightly at the bedroom window. He crossed the room quickly and pulled open the sash, allowing Hedwig to hop in. Harry held out his arm and she stepped up onto it, careful not to take too great a purchase with her talons. He walked her across the room to where her open cage sat on the bureau and set her on her perch, next to the fresh water and owl treats he'd set out before his shower. She held out her leg and he untied the small bundle of coiled parchments.

Harry stood for a minute, absently smoothing Hedwig's feathers as she cooed, before looking down at the four pieces of parchment in his hand. One of them was tied with the red ribbon he had used to send his letter to Ginny. At the sight of it the creature inside him roared, but there was also a cold fear running down his spine.

He glanced over at the pewter stand on his desk and noted thankfully that it was blank, Dumbledore having disappeared from its borders, giving him some privacy. He sat at the foot of his bed heavily, staring hard at the letters. The thing in his chest was telling him to rip open the one from Ginny and read it first, but he was apprehensive. Carefully he plucked it from his hand by the ribbon and stared at it for a moment. Finally, he set it aside, next to his thigh on the bed.

Harry studied the other three pieces of parchment and realized suddenly that there was one more there than he had expected — who would be writing to him other than Ron, Hermione and Ginny? All three remaining rolls of parchment were of about the same size, though one was a slightly brighter white than the others. He took that one from his hand and set the others aside with Ginny's. Upon closer examination he saw, scrawled in a tiny tight script across the edge of the parchment, _To: Harry, From: Hermione._

Harry pulled the string, unrolled and unfolded the parchment, quickly recognizing Hermione's familiar orderly handwriting. He read it through.

_Dear Harry,_

Thank you for writing so quickly. Hedwig arrived last night and wouldn't continue on to The Burrow until I wrote you a response.

I am very happy to know that you made it to your aunt and uncle's safely. It seems like there was some reason for you to make this last visit by yourself and I am glad that they are treating you a bit better. I can't imagine what your aunt has to talk to you about, but I think you should listen politely and give consideration to whatever it is. She may not have ever treated you that well, but she is your only aunt and you are a much better person than to act spitefully.

The change of plans worked out nicely as my parents have planned a family holiday to Greece for two weeks. We will be leaving Monday morning. I will send you a postcard by standard owl post, but it would probably not be a good idea to try to write long letters. I will be home after that and am planning to go to The Burrow for a visit; hopefully you will be there by then.

I got a letter from Ginny just a little before Hedwig arrived, so I will warn you that the Burrow seems to be more chaotic than ever. Apparently the wedding has been pushed back to give Bill some healing time and between planning for the wedding and caring for Bill, Fleur is driving everyone a bit crazy.

Oh, and there are no secrets in the Weasley household! Everyone seems to know that Ron kissed me and that we intend to start going out! So I suspect everything that has happened between you and Ginny is common knowledge as well.

Harry, Ginny told me that you broke up with her? You didn't say anything, but I suspected something had happened. I am not going to judge you for that, as I believe I understand, but please be careful of the twins!

I will see you in about three weeks and we can have a long talk then about everything. Until then, please be safe and careful.

Hermione

Harry read the letter a second time before setting it down on his opposite side from the unopened parchments. Great, he thought with exasperation. Just what he needed: for the whole Weasley family to know that he and Ginny had been together briefly and had now broken up - even if it was his intention to try and reverse that. Visions of vindictive pranks by Fred and George flashed through his mind and he made mental note not to eat any offered sweets for the remainder of the summer.

He looked down at the three remaining scrolls and picked one up, avoiding the red ribbon still. He examined it carefully, now wary of the twins, and could not find any markings on the outside of the parchment. So, holding it at arm's length, he pulled the string and opened the letter. When nothing happened he looked at the signature line and saw that it was from Mr. Weasley. He took a deep breath and read.

_Harry,_

I am writing to confirm with you that you are welcome at The Burrow at any time. Whenever you are ready, just send word and I will arrange transportation for you.

I gather from the whisperings of my children that there are matters to be addressed on a personal level, but I believe your safety and security outweigh all else at the moment.

I have been asked by the Minister for Magic to arrange a meeting between the two of you as soon as you return to The Burrow. I informed him that I would deliver his invitation to meet, but made no promise that you would be willing. Mr. Scrimgeour is a persistent man, so I would encourage you to accept his invitation, rather than waiting for whatever pressures he might employ in order to force a meeting.

I was going to wait to tell you this, but when Hedwig showed up at our window during breakfast I thought I may as well inform you, so that you could think about it. Please give the matter your consideration.

Please be safe and come to us as soon as you feel it is right to leave your aunt and uncle.

Sincerely,

Arthur Weasley

Harry set this letter aside with Hermione's and puzzled over it for just a moment. He was grateful for Mr. Weasley's thoughtfulness, but it seemed obvious that he was now being pressured through his work, all due to his association with Harry. Harry felt as though he would have to accept the meeting with the Minister, if for no other reason than to do something to relieve the strain on Mr. Weasley. He had been shown too many kindnesses from the whole of the Weasley family and he felt determined to prevent any pressures from being imposed upon them if it was within his power to do so. He made a mental note to discuss the matter with Dumbledore.

He looked down at the two remaining scrolls of parchment and suddenly snatched up the one he knew to be from Ginny. He couldn't put it off any longer; he needed to know what she had to say. The creature inside him was turning round and round uncomfortably, and he felt he might be sick if he didn't get it over with. He pulled the ribbon away and opened the parchment with his eyes closed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he opened his eyes and focused on the beautiful handwriting, both feminine and straightforward — much like the girl herself.

_Dear Harry,_

Ron told me a little of what happened on the train. It sounds wonderful, and I am so happy for you.

I understand how you feel about keeping me safe. Just try to imagine for a minute how I and every one of your friends feels about your safety, given whatever it is you must face in this dreadful war.

Of course I forgive you, Harry, and understand that you were acting as you thought was best, but please quit worrying about my safety and pay special attention to your own instead. I get quite enough coddling from my parents and brothers, thank you very much. I do not want it or need it from you.

I look forward to seeing you when you return to us at The Burrow, and we can discuss other matters at that time. However, let me just point out from your letter — you "think!" and you are "no longer sure?"

Well, Mr. Potter, what I think, is that you had better be sure, because if you are not sure then we have nothing worth discussing.

I will look forward to seeing you soon.

Cordially,

Ginny

The creature lay coiled, skittish and confused inside him. He read the note through three times in rapid succession. He could not tell if she was actually angry, if she was merely making light of him as she was sometimes inclined to do, or whether she was simply trying to be very careful not to say too much. Still, she had gotten right to the point and challenged him without completely dashing his hopes.

For a moment Harry longed for a different life in which his only worry would be deciphering Ginny's words as she had written them, without thought of what she may or may not have written under the assumption that her mail could be intercepted. He sighed, and shook the thought from his mind. It would not do him any good to wish for a reality that simply wasn't.

He set Ginny's letter with her father's and Hermione's and snatched up the final scroll. This one would be from Ron. He pulled it open and read the final letter.

_Harry,_

Hedwig is pecking at me. She is a wonder, I wish Pig were as devoted. She came in the window before breakfast and after Dad untied your letters she flew to his desk and brought me a quill. Guess you told her not to come back without mail. Gee, thanks mate.

Must be different without your lump of a cousin there? Sounds like maybe your family has figured out that you are a good guy. Or maybe they just figured out that you're rich? Whatever they figured, I'm glad to hear things are a little better.

I filled Ginny in a bit. She was busy writing to Hermione when I got home, and the whole family is buzzing about my finally getting up the courage to ask Hermione out. I swear my shoulders will be red for a week from all the back slaps from my brothers. And thanks mate, for the moral support. Mum seems to be really happy for me; she flushes and breaks into a huge smile whenever she looks at me and she keeps offering me snacks.

Unfortunately, they also keep asking Ginny about you. I guess your secret is out, but so far Ginny isn't saying anything. What's going on between you two? Why did she go home with my parents instead of coming on the Express with us? I didn't really think about it before. I guess I was sort of distracted, sorry.

I think maybe I have written enough to satisfy Hedwig — she's quit nipping at me. So I'll leave off and look forward to talking when you get here.

Don't worry about the change of plans, Hermione figures you want the time to "think." Still, everyone is looking forward to seeing you here at The Burrow as soon as you can come. I'll warn you, though, that the place is a zoo of activity, what with wedding planning and all.

Anyway, be safe and I look forward to seeing you soon

Your friend,

Ron

Harry read through Ron's letter again quickly and then set all four letters on his small writing desk. He needed to think a bit before responding to any of the Weasleys, and Hermione had simply told him not to write to her. In any case, he could take some time to think. Unlike so many previous summer visits to Privet Drive, he was not feeling the restlessness and boredom of having nothing to do and no one to talk to. In fact, he was rather feeling that he had quite a lot to do.

Harry went to his wardrobe and drew out a fresh shirt. As he caught his reflection in the mirror he noticed that while he had grown quite a bit in the last few years, and all the Quidditch had left him in quite good physical condition, the unfortunate truth was that the hand-me-down clothes from Dudley had grown even more. He determined that he should replace all of Dudley's old clothes as soon as possible.

Harry found himself wondering what sorts of clothes Ginny might pick out for him if given the chance. The wayward thought sent his mind back to her letter. What sort of response should he make? His thoughts were interrupted by Aunt Petunia's shrill voice calling him down for supper.

After his meal Harry returned to his room. That second evening at Privet Drive, Dumbledore had begun Harry's introduction to meditation and spoken of several things he felt might be important for Harry to familiarize himself with. The time slipped by quite rapidly, despite a few frustrating early attempts at meditation, and Harry soon found that he was yawning furiously, and eyeing his little bed. After letting Hedwig out for the night and saying his goodnight to the Dumbledore card, which he then removed from the base, Harry slipped into his bed and drifted easily off to sleep.

Monday had slipped by in a strange other-worldly way as the Dumbledore card had Harry aggressively pursuing this concept of meditation. During the morning the exercises had seemed rather fruitless to Harry and he found himself tired by the effort. But Dumbledore had kept counseling Harry to relax and not try to achieve anything; instead, he should just allow himself to drift. In the afternoon something had changed and Harry began to find calm within himself that he had not previously known.

After supper Harry had ventured out for a walk in the neighborhoods surrounding Privet Drive, as he had many times before. Covering familiar ground, he felt an odd sensation of detachment, a purposeful realization that all of this — his experiences growing up in these streets, his time spent at the Dursleys' — was coming to an end.

Harry was not certain what he would do after his seventeenth birthday. He had Grimmauld Place, but he was fairly certain he never wanted to live there — not that he was sure what he would do with it. Yet another matter he could discuss with Dumbledore. He wondered briefly if one could sell a magical property, and supposed that it must be possible. He knew he was always welcome at The Burrow, but it wasn't really his home — no, he decided; he would have to find another place to live. As an of-age wizard, it would be time to make a home for himself.

Becoming an adult wizard would mean he had to deal with so many practicalities — and all on top of matters concerning the war, and the Horcruxes, and the prophecy. It gave Harry a headache to think of it all. So, sitting on a swing in the park near Privet Drive, he pushed it all from his mind and found a soft, comforting void of white. In the calm he decided to consider only that which was most important to him, and as he did so a swirl of images crossed his consciousness. Hogwarts school, his parents and godfather, Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione, his Firebolt, Death Eaters, Wormtail, Snape and finally Voldemort himself all slipped past, flitting by and wisping away, all giving way to a final image; an image of Ginny Weasley. Harry could feel himself smiling.

On the edge of his consciousness, Harry heard the sharp snapping of a twig nearby, and was jolted instantly back to reality, drawing his wand from his pocket. He turned in the direction of the noise and saw a small flash of coat-tail slipping away at the corner of a garage near the far edge of the cramped park.

Harry ran quickly toward the building, his wand extended in front of him. He slipped around the corner of the garage. Before him was a little path, a row of garages on one side and a narrow wood on the other; it was down this path that the figure was running, already some distance from him. Without thinking Harry continued his pursuit, along the garage wall. As he reached the other corner, a leather-gloved hand reached out, catching the shoulder of his sweatshirt, his own momentum causing him to spin around.

Harry's heart caught in his throat as he realized his mistake, and he tried to pull his wand hand around towards his assailant - but it was caught in the steel grip of another gloved hand. His assailant was shrouded in shadow, making it impossible for Harry to discern any details. Fear left Harry - no Death Eater would take him so easily! He kicked the man's leg, hard. There was a loud, resounding thud as Harry's trainer impacted with the man's limb, and pain radiated through Harry's toes. The man released him and Harry dropped to the ground, clutching his foot in agony.

Realization dawned as the man stepped forward into the low light of the setting sun and Harry looked up into the scarred face of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. Moody's voice was a low growl as he uttered a mumbled expression of pain and pulled back his coat to rub his leg where it was fitted to the wooden prosthesis. "That hurts!" he growled. "What did you have to go do that for, lad?"

Harry stared for an instant, forgetting the pain in his own toes. Then his voice caught up to him. "I'm… I'm sorry Professor, but you grabbed me? You… you might have been a Death Eater." His breathing had nearly returned to normal.

Moody stared down at Harry with a hard expression that seemed almost comical, as his magical eye was wandering about looking at anything-and-everything. His normal eye, beady and dark, was fixed on Harry, and below it, an incomplete nose and a leathery gash of a mouth made up the rest of his face. Suddenly Moody's expression transformed into what Harry could only assume was a smile and he reached out a hand to help Harry up. "Quite right, my boy, quite right," Moody exclaimed, his voice now jovial, though it still sounded somewhat like the human equivalent of a large barking dog. "Still hurt… But I guess it hurt you just as much."

Harry stepped down lightly on his foot as Mad-Eye righted him, and he looked up to see that the running figure was returning. As the silhouette stepped from the long sunset shadows of the trees, Harry recognized the face of Oliver Wood grinning at him. Wood extended his hand and shook Harry's vigorously. "Great to see you, Harry," he said beamingly. "I've joined the Order… Took me a bloody long time to figure out how, but I finally managed it." Harry smiled back and looked down at their hands, whereupon Wood quit shaking and released him.

"That's great, Oliver…" Harry began slowly, "But what are the two of you doing here? Spying on me?"

"Let's just say we're keeping an eye for your own protection," Mad-Eye cut in, his magical eye fixed on Wood, "And this was just a little, unintentional test of your awareness - which I would say you passed," he continued, reaching down to rub his leg again. "If I had been a Death Eater you'd have created an opportunity to hit me with a good defensive curse. A physical attack'll catch most wizards by surprise — they rely too much on their wands." Moody's magical eye swiveled and fixed itself upon Harry.

Harry nodded his understanding, twisting his sore foot a bit against the ground. "But Professor, what are you doing here?"

"Please, boy, I'm not your professor. Never was, technically. Anyway, I was just teaching young Wood here about his duties for the Order. Which will include a shift guarding your aunt and uncle's house; and you too, if you insist on taking these evening constitutionals." Though Moody's voice was stern, Harry could hear a hint of a kind undertone.

"So the Order is still active, even without Dumbledore?" Harry asked quickly.

"Yep. The Order is continuing, and we'll be redoubling our efforts, and expanding our ranks." Moody's eye swung back toward Wood, standing next to him. "Things are very quiet right now; there have been no reports of Death Eater attacks anywhere in the country since… Well, since Dumbledore was killed. But if you ask me, this is the calm before the storm: we have to be prepared; we must maintain constant vigilance."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, trying to ignore the slight chill that ran through him at the mention of Dumbledore's death.

"Good. You'd best be getting back while there's still a bit of light. So off you go," Moody growled with finality as he motioned back toward the small park with a gloved hand, his magical eye matching the motion and swinging completely around; probably checking that the coast was clear.

Harry nodded to Moody and took Wood's hand once more in a parting handshake. Then he was off, back around the garage, through the park and toward the house on Privet Drive. He took comfort in the fact that the Order was still operating, and he appreciated that they were guarding him, but it made him feel like something of a prisoner. _Fortunately,_ he thought to himself, _a prisoner very soon to be freed._

The rest of that night was spent in conversation with the Dumbledore card, discussing the Order and what role it might take with Dumbledore absent. They discussed Hogwarts, and the merits of Harry finishing his seventh year, and what the Minister for Magic would want from Harry - and what Harry might want in return. They speculated together about the apparent lack of activity from Voldemort. And of course, Harry did more meditation exercises.

That night Harry dreamed of Ginny standing alone beneath the broad snow-covered bows of the oak tree in the corner of the back garden at The Burrow. She simply stood there, her arm outstretched to him. She was wearing a set of evening robes that suggested the Christmas holidays and she seemed to glow, a happy smile spread across her lips.

Waking early Tuesday morning, Harry held onto the dream for as long as he could and before it faded completely he had taken out a bit of parchment and scrawled a few simple words:

_Ginny,  
I am sure, very sure._

Yours,

Harry

Harry coiled up the small note and tied it to Hedwig's leg with the red ribbon. He fussed with Hedwig's feathers all the way to the window and sent her on her morning mission before going downstairs to offer to help Aunt Petunia with breakfast.

Tuesday passed like a dream and Harry was certain he wore a ridiculous smile most of the day; his aunt asked him several times if everything was okay, and whether he was certain he felt quite well.

He spent most of the morning dusting, polishing and vacuuming for his aunt without complaint and in the afternoon he did more meditation exercises with Dumbledore. It was becoming quite easy now to set everything aside and find that empty white space. Even though thoughts of Ginny were ever-present in his mind, he was able to hold onto those emotions and keep them secure in the emptiness with him - almost as though he had contained those emotions in a protected place and held them safe as his mind was cleared of other concerns.

Wednesday passed in much the same way; more cleaning for Aunt Petunia and more lessons with Dumbledore. Harry also remembered to write a letter to the _Daily Prophet_ to obtain a summer subscription and request a week's worth of back issues. He folded the letter carefully to hold the few galleons that would pay for the whole summer and set the thick parchment aside to wait for Hedwig's return.

Hedwig returned just after supper with a small scroll of parchment tied to her leg. Harry quickly retrieved the scroll and opened it. As he did so, a small piece of folded paper fell out of it; with seeker reflexes, Harry snatched it and took a closer look. It was a small rectangle of very white tissue paper, folded neatly in half, about one and half inches square. Harry unfolded the paper to discover what looked like pale pink lip prints. He blushed to himself slightly, folded the paper back and set it quickly on his bureau.

He finished unrolling the scroll to find a letter from Ron.

_Hey Mate,_

Don't know what was in your last letter, but it sure seems to have made Ginny very happy. She's been smiling all day and she and Mum have been whispering quite a lot. Guess that whatever was going on with you two, you must have patched it up.

Got a postcard from Hermione today, she says she's having fun in Greece, and that she'll be sending you a card soon as well.

Wish you were here, or better yet, that I was there with you. The women here are driving me completely batty with wedding talk about flowers and dresses, though I get the feeling that something odd is going on with the wedding planning. Fleur gets kind of sulky sometimes and spends most of her time tending Bill.

Anyway, I'm hoping the next week and a bit goes quickly, so that you can come be with me here, craziness and all.

Oh, yeah, Ginny is sending you a Whisper. I told her I didn't think you would know what it was, so she asked me to write and explain. You'll see it; it's a small piece of thin white parchment. Just hold it between your palms. Your body heat will activate it, and the rest is self-explanatory. Oh, and it's best if you close your eyes.

Ron

Harry set the parchment aside and retrieved the small square of paper from his bureau. He regarded it carefully and wondered exactly what a _Whisper_ could be. He had seen Howlers and knew them to be particularly unpleasant, but a _Whisper_ certainly seemed to hold greater intrigue. And besides, it was from Ginny; it couldn't be anything nasty, could it?

Harry held out his right palm and laid the folded square across it. Gently he placed his left hand over his right and pressed his palms together, his fingers and thumbs aligned. For a moment nothing happened, but then Harry felt the slightest flickering of the paper, as though he had captured a butterfly, as he sometimes had when he was a child, playing in the back garden, and it was struggling between his palms. He eased the space between his palms and the fluttering increased. So, with the slightest trepidation, he opened his palms; the paper appeared to have actually become a white and pink butterfly.

In an instant it flew from his hands, leaving a brief trail of sparkling silver dust in its wake. It circled his head a couple of times and Harry, remembering Ron's letter, closed his eyes. After a moment, he thought he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and the sense of someone leaning close to his ear… But not just anybody… It was Ginny. And he heard her voice, a soft, clear whisper. "Harry, I am so glad you have come to your senses. I know what you were trying to do, and I love you for it, but you cannot hide what you feel from anybody." There was a pause, the eternity of a couple of heartbeats. "And Harry… I have always loved you." Then, before he could think, he felt the soft paper flutter against his lips and dissolve into the distinct feeling of one of Ginny's softest kisses. It lingered for far too short a time.

As he felt the press of familiar lips withdrawing, he opened his eyes just in time to see the fluttering paper flit into shining silver dust just inches from his face and disintegrate into nothingness.

There was a light chuckle from the Dumbledore card in its base on the bureau, and Harry, blushing furiously, turned to see the small image smiling brightly. "Pardon my intrusion, Harry; I didn't mean to spy," Dumbledore apologized in a happy voice. "But I haven't seen a _Whisper_ in so many years. A rather spectacular way to receive a message, don't you think?" Harry could feel the heat in his cheeks, and imagined that he was sporting a stupid grin, too. He quickly nodded in response.

Dumbledore reminisced for a few minutes about the few _Whispers_ he had received in his lifetime, but then quickly set Harry to more meditation exercises, saying that it was the perfect time to practice concealing personal memories, and so that was how Harry spent the remainder of Wednesday evening.

Harry's contemplation of the events of the past few days was interrupted by his aunt calling him to lunch from the bottom of the stairs.

As Harry descended the stairs, his thoughts remained in a similar vein, of recent events; since he had been back, without Dudley around, Privet Drive had actually been — dare he think it - pleasant. Through the week, his uncle was out all day, so he had seen very little of him — not to mention that his aunt was being civil toward him, if not actually kind. She certainly had been feeding him better than he ever remembered eating before while at Privet Drive. Of course, he knew that the most significant difference had been having Dumbledore with him… or rather, the Dumbledore card base. It had made all the difference to the way in which he passed the hours in his room.

As he thought about it he wondered what was going to happen on Saturday, once his aunt and uncle had retrieved Dudley from school. _Well,_ he thought, _I'll simply deal with 'Dudders' once I have to._

Harry found his aunt in the kitchen. She was looking a little anxious, and she quickly pointed him to a prepared plate set out with a roast beef sandwich and a few crisps. It was at the dining room table rather than the counter, which threw Harry for a moment, but he sat down and began eating anyway, surmising that his aunt must have decided that it was time for their discussion.

After a few minutes his aunt came and sat down at the table. She was clutching something tightly in one hand; it was a small leather book, Harry saw, rather like the small address book that his uncle kept. Harry took a drink of milk and cleared the food from his mouth before politely asking what it was that she wished to discuss with him.

Petunia fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair, looking rather like a child caught in a lie, finally cornered into telling the truth. She set the small leather book on the table, pushing it towards Harry. "I wonder if you could tell me what this is?" Her long neck seemed to crane unnaturally away as she spoke, as though it had taken considerable effort simply to speak those few words.

Harry leaned forward a little in order to see and immediately recognized the embossed seal of Gringotts Wizarding Bank in bright gilding on the cover. The seal was just a logo with the word "Gringotts"; perhaps this was why his aunt was unclear. It could have been anything, he supposed, unless you already knew that Gringotts was a bank. "It looks like an account book from Gringotts Wizarding Bank," he said after consideration, then added, "Where did it come from?"

Petunia's eyes widened and she crossed her arms as she leaned backwards in her chair. "A joke, then," she stated rather disdainfully. "One of those birds brought it, a couple of weeks after you were left on our doorstep." The distaste in her voice increased as she continued, "The note said that an account had been created in my name." She exhaled sharply. "The letter was from someone who claimed to be a barrister, a Mr. Pratt or Pracht, something like that. It went on about how he knew that we, as your relatives, would expect no compensation for taking you in, and that it was not his intention to insult us by setting up a fund for your care." She sighed again. "I knew that it was all a cruel joke when I opened the ledger because there was only one entry, for two hundred 'g.' - which of course isn't real currency."

Petunia paused again, pressing her thumbnail to her lips. "When I showed it to Vernon he was furious and he chucked it into the fireplace, letter and all." Here she paused once more and looked up at Harry, as though unsure whether or not to continue. "Well, a few days later when I was cleaning, I found this book amongst the ashes, completely unmarked. When I looked inside it there was a second entry, dated the first of the month, for another two hundred 'g.' I never said anything to Vernon but I hid the book away, in case it was real — but no other letter ever arrived, nothing telling us how to withdraw it, so I assumed that it wasn't."

Harry just stared at his aunt, not sure what to say. Obviously, 'g.' was galleons — but aunt Petunia wasn't to know that. His mind was racing with the concept that someone had set up a fund for his care, but the Dursleys were too frightened of the wizarding world, too proud, or simply too dim to investigate how to access the money. How different his life would have been if the Dursleys had treated him better, been happier with his presence and spent money on new things for him. There was no guarantee, though, that it would have changed anything - he wondered if his Uncle Vernon would have used the money toward his care at all.

Harry's train of thought was broken by his aunt speaking once again. "We - especially Vernon - always resented that you were thrust upon us, that we were just expected to care and provide for you. We knew that your father's family had money of some sort, and expected to receive at least some help towards your education and so on. But all we received was this stupid joke; it just made us even more resentful."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Finally Harry picked up the account book and paged through it. There had been a monthly deposit of two hundred galleons for every month that Harry had been in the Dursleys' care, until the age of eleven. Once he had started Hogwarts, Harry noted, the deposits continued at a rate of fifty galleons per month while he was away, and resumed at two hundred during the summer months. There was very nearly sixteen years' worth of deposits listed, and the total balance, including accumulated monthly interest of two and half percent, was an impressive eight hundred twenty thousand, three hundred seventy-six galleons, eight sickles and twenty-four knuts.

Harry just stared at the little book for a while. He wondered where the money was coming from. Surely if it had been coming from his family vault he would have been notified. He also found himself wondering how it was that this account had been accumulating interest, while his vault simply contained whatever coins were placed there. He tried to clear his mind of the many questions and found that in a matter of moments his thoughts were enveloped in a void of white. Finally, in a calm, flat voice, Harry responded, "Galleons. 'g.' stands for galleons. It is real money, Aunt Petunia. It's wizard money."

Petunia's eyes widened as Harry spoke and her lips pursed in an expression of agitated confusion. "Why didn't they just send us it in pounds and be done with it?"

"They… whoever 'they' is, must have thought you would already know about the wizarding bank and would be able to arrange to get the money," Harry offered. He thought for a moment. Hermione's parents had been able to go to Gringotts and exchange pounds for galleons. His grandparents must have done the same thing when his mother had first started at Hogwarts.

"Aunt Petunia? When my mother was first notified that she was a witch and would be going to Hogwarts, didn't your parents have to take her to Diagon Alley to buy her books and supplies?" He paused and glanced at his aunt; she wasn't looking at him, but appeared to be listening. "And, didn't they have to exchange pounds for galleons at Gringotts Wizarding Bank?" His aunt just sat, looking confused. "Didn't you ever go with them? Even once?" he prompted.

Petunia looked over at Harry, meeting his steady gaze, and he was taken aback by how pale and frightened she looked. He found himself hoping that she would remember to breathe soon. Finally she did take a deep breath and began to speak. "I did… once. It was the very first time they went. They were all so excited, especially Lily. I was only thirteen years old at the time, mind, and I had become frightened of my sister… of the strange things she could make happen. And here we were, going to this odd and horrible place, for the express purpose of sending my little sister away to become even more strange." She paused and took several deep breaths. She seemed to be calming slightly. "I remember…" she finally said, "I remember a large white stone building with strange creatures guarding the doors, and becoming very upset. We went in and the place was full of more strange creatures… everywhere. I… I believe I panicked, and my mother had to take me outside while my father finished with Lily. I remember them joining us later at the car, with a whole trunk-full of new things for Lily to take to school." Petunia gave what sounded to Harry like a disappointed sigh and she finished, "They never tried to take me with them again."

Harry glanced back down at the final figure in the account book. Someone had paid this money all his life for his care and he had never known. The Dursleys had resented him his entire life, partially because of the expense of his care, and yet they had had these funds available to them the whole time. Harry felt a spike of anger well in his stomach.

It simply wasn't fair that the Dursleys would now reap this reward after treating him as they had. His mind raced with possibilities. _Is there any way I can prevent this?_ He couldn't immediately think of a way - after all, the money was clearly in his aunt's name. He could simply refuse to cooperate, or to reveal any more information. But then it occurred to him; what did he care? Did he really wish the Dursleys ill? No, he had to admit to himself, in spite of everything, he did not; but neither did he wish them rewarded. He thought the whole situation rather absurd, and it aggravated him.

Harry looked at his aunt hard, so much so that a look of shock met his gaze in return. He could not hide the edge of anger in his voice. "Why now?" His aunt looked suddenly frightened of him as he spoke. "If you thought this was all a joke, why bring it up now?"

Petunia looked away, shame playing across her features. "Because—" her voice caught in her throat, "…Because a German company has purchased Grunnings, and Vernon is losing his job."

The statement was a completely unexpected turn to Harry and the shock of it dulled the edge of his anger.

"And," Petunia continued, "Some part of me has always wondered if it was real." Her voice changed suddenly to a sort of guilty plea. "Harry, I am sorry. I told myself it was all a joke because I wanted reason to resent you, but I knew it could be real. We were so determined to weed out any possibility of magic in you that we treated you terribly. In the end we failed completely. We probably do not deserve this money, but right now it could mean the difference between staying afloat and losing everything by the end of the summer."

Petunia produced a handkerchief from somewhere and began dabbing her eyes. "You see, Vernon and I have not been good with money; Vernon has always insisted on keeping up appearances, whether it was the car or the house, or clothes. And I have to admit how much we have spoiled Dudley. The truth is, unless Vernon finds another job that pays him just as much, we will have no way to keep up our monthly expenses."

Harry was completely dumbfounded. As much as he told himself he didn't care about the Dursleys, Petunia was his only blood family and he didn't want to see her destitute. It was sheer irony, he thought, that his aunt was essentially turning to him for help. It was all too much to take in, and he couldn't yet know how he felt about it, but he knew that the next step should at least be taken.

"Do you think...?" Harry began tentatively, all hint of anger now gone from his voice. "Do you think you could brave that place again, now that you are grown, in order to get the money from that account? I mean… I think you'll have to go there, at least once."

His aunt looked up at him with surprise, her eyes still welling with tears. She gave the slightest nod of affirmation. "Would it be possible for you to arrange it?" she asked rather timidly.

Harry realized suddenly just what he was being asked. His aunt wanted him to take her to Gringotts. Harry's head began filling with thoughts of a trip to Diagon Alley. He was not thinking of security and other considerations, just the excitement of the bustling shopping center of Wizarding London. He didn't really care about the money. Ever since he had learned about his inheritance in his Gringotts vault, money had just never been a concern to him. Instead what occurred to him now, was how much he would like to get away from the house, and the neighborhood, even if it meant having to go out with his aunt. He nodded back to his aunt.

"Harry." His aunt's voice invaded his thoughts again. "One more thing… do you know, is a galleon more or less than a pound?"

Harry considered for a moment. "I think I heard my friend Hermione once talk about the conversion rate from galleons to pounds; there's something like four or five pounds to the galleon, I think."

Petunia took the account book from Harry and was clearly inspecting the final figure. After a few seconds, she became pale again and uttered slowly, "But… But…That would mean there are over four million pounds here." She just stared at the little book in her hands for a long moment. A greedy smile stretched slowly across her face, making her horsy features look rather uncomfortable. "Harry," she said excitedly, "if you can arrange it… I'm taking Vernon to work in the morning and I'll have the car to do the weekly shopping. I would like it if we could go tomorrow."

**NEXT**  
Chapter Six  
**Diagon Dalliance**


	7. Diagon Dalliance

Chapter Six  
**Diagon Dalliance**

Harry could barely breathe as his uncle's sedan motored down the road toward London. It was all so unbelievable; he was actually on his way to Diagon Alley, accompanied by none other than his Aunt Petunia. And, perhaps most unbelievable of all, he was actually sitting in the front seat.

It had all happened so quickly, and Harry was still processing it in his head. After learning about his Aunt Petunia's account book from Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and the Dursleys' need to access the money, Harry had rushed to his room and told the Dumbledore card all about it. Dumbledore was as surprised as Harry about the existence of the account, and had no idea where it had come from.

Arranging to make a trip to Diagon Alley had proven a bit circuitous, but it had all finally come together. The Dumbledore card seemed to feel that such a trip would be safe enough, if the Order would be willing to provide discreet security, though he stressed that some safety measures were definitely warranted.

Harry and Dumbledore were in agreement that Voldemort had gone to ground, revising his plans, building power and preparing for future attacks. Harry proposed that the cause of the Death Eaters' inactivity was fear of backlash over Dumbledore's death. The card was somewhat self-effacing regarding this theory, and humbly discounted it as the reason behind the lull. Dumbledore felt that Voldemort was purposely creating a period of calm in order to encourage more normal, unguarded activity. After some discussion, the card base and Harry agreed that things would be relatively safe for a while, and though they knew that they should spend this time on planning and preparation, there was still time to take advantage of the opportunity for a relatively safe trip to Diagon Alley. Plus, the card had said, it might be good for the general morale of the wizarding world if Harry Potter were to be seen out in public.

In order to make arrangements for the trip, Harry first considered sending Hedwig with a letter to Mr. Weasley, but he knew that it would take her a few hours to make the flight and he figured there must be a way to send a message more quickly. Besides, he felt the person to contact was really Mad-Eye Moody, and he had no idea where or how far away he was. He then considered sending her with a note for whatever Order member was nearby on watch duty, but thought that might arouse undesired attention. As he sat on the edge of his bed considering the problem, Dumbledore reminded him that he did own a house-elf who could be used to deliver a message almost instantaneously. Harry retorted that he owned a house-elf, but one that he would never trust with anything. Then it occurred to him; there was one house-elf that he _would_ trust. Still sitting on the edge of his bed, he uttered a name that rolled off his tongue with a bit of disdain: "Kreacher."

After a few moments there was a "pop" and the decrepit and dirty little house-elf was standing before him. "My master calls and I am forced to obey," Kreacher's grumbling voice came. The little elf was clearly unhappy with having to respond to Harry, but all-in-all, Harry thought that he looked healthier and a bit cleaner for having been with so many other elves, working at Hogwarts for the past year.

"Kreacher," Harry said clearly and authoritatively, "I want you to find Dobby and send him to me immediately. And you are not to communicate of this to anyone — ever." Kreacher looked up at Harry with an expression that might have been disappointment, or just as easily disgust. "Kreacher will do as his master demands," the old elf intoned, and then he disappeared with a "pop".

Within two minutes there was another "pop" and Dobby appeared in Harry's bedroom. "Harry Potter wants to see Dobby?" came the familiar squeaky voice. "Dobby is honored to come at Harry Potter's summons. Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter; Harry Potter has but to ask." The little elf's large eyes shone with anticipation as he paced the room excitedly.

"Dobby," Harry said, smiling at the effusive little elf, "I just want you to take a simple message for me."

"Dobby would be honored, of course, Harry Potter." Dobby grinned widely, the stack of knitted hats wobbling precariously upon his head.

Dobby had quickly located Alastor Moody and informed him of Harry's need to speak to him. Moody had arrived in the back garden a short time later beneath his invisibility cloak, and though he wasn't all that keen on the idea of Harry leaving the house, Harry insisted that he would make the trip regardless, so Moody agreed to arrange security through the Order. After supper that evening, Dobby had come with a final confirmation; Harry was to travel with his aunt to the Leaky Cauldron — accompanied by a broom guard, who would be camouflaged by Invisibility Charms — where they would meet with an escort and proceed to Diagon Alley.

Harry had not been told specifically who the escort would be, only that it would be someone he would know. Harry was also quite certain that Moody, being who he was, would have arranged for further protection, rather than leaving him with just one minder; he was sure that the camouflaged guard would not stop following them just because this leg of the trip was concluded. Knowing Moody, there would be sentries and lookouts all throughout the alley. He leaned back into the plush seat, relaxed, and tried to enjoy the ride.

Aunt Petunia had been very quiet so far, but her mixed excitement and trepidation showed in her manner as she steered her husband's precious automobile into the busy streets of London. Harry thought it was greed and financial worry that was driving her against her fears, but as long as it got him out of Privet Drive and into the relative comfort of the wizarding world, even for a short while, he was prepared to take advantage of the opportunity; he was determined to have a good day.

It was proving to be a beautiful, sunny morning, with light, fluffy clouds punctuating the sky, and Harry felt better and better as they arrived in London and turned into a multi-storey car park, where Aunt Petunia was given a paper ticket. Once free of the car, they went on foot the short distance toward the Leaky Cauldron. Harry tried hard to quell his growing excitement as they rounded a corner and he recognized how close they were to their destination. He found himself wondering suddenly who their escort would be, and hoped whoever it was had the sense to dress like a Muggle to set his aunt at ease.

As they turned onto Charing Cross Road, Harry knew they would be less than a hundred feet from the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and he scanned the people on the street carefully, looking for anyone he might recognize. He noted rather absently that the large bookstore was still there, as he remembered from his very first visit to Diagon Alley all those years ago with Hagrid. But it appeared that the record shop had given way to a coffee shop of some kind, as the smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting down the street and there seemed to be a steady flow of Muggles going in and out.

Then, with a breath of relief, Harry spotted their escort: Molly Weasley. She was standing next to a postbox right in front of the grubby little pub window. As he got close, she turned and saw him and smiled a broad, friendly smile. She must have been very well coached, he thought as he noticed her tasteful, khaki skirt and plain white blouse. Combined with a knit shawl, also of a single color, and with a canvas handbag, Molly looked like she could have been any Muggle unobtrusively waiting for a bus. Harry was grateful to whoever had helped dress her - not that he personally had any objection to her usual multicolored jumpers and otherwise eccentric wizard wardrobe, but for this meeting, looking like a normal Muggle was definitely a plus.

As Mrs. Weasley turned, smiling, Harry was hugely surprised to see a flash of familiar red hair on the other side of her, and before he could quell the sudden summersaults of the creature in his chest, Ginny stepped back from her mother's side and came into full view. _This day has just become brilliant,_ Harry thought to himself as he took in the vision of her standing there in hip-hugging flared Muggle jeans, and a simple form-fitting olive green jumper over a white singlet. Her hair was straight and loose with only a narrow braid from the front on each side pulled back and gathered with a simple hair band. He smiled at her and fought the urge to sprint toward her and gather her up into a huge hug.

As the two Weasleys approached, Harry stepped forward and carefully presented his aunt to each of them in formal introduction. "Aunt Petunia, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Molly Weasley, and her daughter, Ginny," he said, speaking clearly and politely. "Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley." Harry swallowed hard and hoped that the drive to become rich would be overriding his aunt's usual fear of anything to do with the magical world. She had said that she had been here before as a girl, so Harry assumed that she could at least see the door and pub window, and was somewhat prepared to face her fears.

Molly extended her hand to a doubtful Petunia, who took it mechanically and with somewhat less-than-polite brevity. "Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Dursley," Molly began in a cheerful, tempered tone. "We are good friends of Harry's; as you know, he has spent considerable time in our home, and I have been asked to serve as your escort today, if that is acceptable to you?"

Petunia took in Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, and for a moment Harry feared that previous encounters between the Dursleys and the Weasleys would color this meeting. Both women, despite Molly's carefully maintained smile, and Petunia's expression of neutrality, seemed very uncomfortable to him. There was a long moment of tension clear upon his aunt's face, but it seemed to be overridden by her desire to see this through and, to his relief, she replied, "It is nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Weasley. We have seen one another a number of times at King's Cross, but never been formally introduced. I would be pleased of your company today." Harry knew his aunt well enough to know that she was falling back on her ingrained etiquette, and that only Molly's carefully groomed appearance and behavior were preventing her from unraveling. That and her desire to get the money from the bank account.

Harry had had all the previous night to think about it, and he had concluded that the money simply was not important to him. He did feel a slight bit of resentment, when he dwelled on it, that the money had been set aside to provide for _him,_ but Dumbledore had told him once that it did not do to dwell on the past, so as long as the money was in his aunt's name, he didn't see any reason that the Dursleys couldn't have it.

He had to admit, he felt some small hope that it would change their attitude toward him, but it was a very small hope. So far it had not been an unpleasant stay at Privet Drive, and if this money helped the Dursleys and bought him a continued pleasant final visit, so be it. Harry would be moving forward anyway once he turned seventeen. He glanced over at Ginny, whose bright eyes met his happily. For now, he decided, he was prepared to concentrate on this day, to make this day something special and he could feel himself smiling.

"This, as Harry says, is my daughter, Ginny. She's my youngest." Molly was still addressing Petunia, and Harry realized his mind had been wandering and he had been staring at Ginny, who now stepped forward and shook Harry's aunt's hand, adding the slightest polite bow. "Ginny is at school with Harry and my son, Ron; she's a year behind them," Molly finished.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dursley," Ginny said sweetly.

"You are a very beautiful girl," Petunia said, almost wistfully. "You remind me a little of Harry's mother when she was your age. She had red hair, as well - did Harry ever tell you that?" Harry stared at his aunt, his jaw dropping slightly. He had never in his life heard his aunt utter a favorable word about his mother, and now to hear her compare his mother to Ginny was a little unsettling.

"Yes, Ma'am, Harry has mentioned it," Ginny replied, blushing at what she obviously regarded as a huge compliment.

"Well," Harry interjected, "I suppose we had best be getting on to Gringotts."

"Now, Harry," Molly said with the slightest frown. "We don't want to rush your aunt. Diagon Alley can be an overwhelming place for non-magic folk, and Gringotts especially, so perhaps…" she had turned to Petunia now and was smiling reassuringly, "…If you have any questions, Mrs. Dursley, we would be glad to answer anything before we proceed."

Mrs. Dursley regarded Mrs. Weasley then, with wide eyes, and Harry saw something in her demeanor change. It was as if this small display of understanding had cracked something in Aunt Petunia's facade of frightened distrust, and she seemed to visibly relax slightly. "I'll tell you what," Molly continued, "Why don't we go on through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley - just a little way in is a very nice café, where I have arranged for us to have tea, and we can answer any questions there, and relax a bit before we proceed to the bank." Aunt Petunia looked a little overwhelmed, her knuckles whitening as she clutched her handbag, but she nodded her acceptance, and moved forward stiffly.

As they walked through the Leaky Cauldron, Harry noticed his aunt had lost the usual haughtiness to her step and instead appeared quite timid. She was looking everywhere in wide-eyed, perhaps fearful, anticipation, but it didn't really look much different to a quaint, old, smoke-filled country pub. Yes, the very few people there were dressed funnily by Muggle standards, but all-in-all it couldn't be too unsettling.

Ginny led the way through the tables, away from the bar and toward the back courtyard. As they stepped past, Harry caught sight of a cloaked man in a small, shadowed alcove that he could tell would have a clear view of the courtyard exit. As Ginny pulled open the courtyard door, she seemed to be careful not to stand in the passage, and Harry noticed quick movements from the man. When he turned his head to look, he realized that it was Alastor Moody sitting in the alcove at a small secluded table, and it occurred to him that Moody had just opened the Alley archway from where he was sitting. Harry silently mouthed a _thank you,_ and Moody winked at him with his natural eye.

Ginny continued to hold the door as Harry led his aunt and Mrs. Weasley outside and through the open archway, right out onto the sun-filled, twisting, cobblestone street that was Diagon Alley. Petunia looked as though she expected something to jump out at her as she hesitantly stepped through the archway, but she proceeded when he motioned her forward. Harry was grateful to see that the normally bustling alley he remembered was today only sparsely populated by tight groups of shoppers, though that was still enough to give a feeling of life to the street.

Harry hung back then, as Mrs. Weasley led his awestruck aunt down the street toward a small café. Harry wasn't sure what his aunt remembered, but he imagined that she had twisted the memory into something nightmarish, and the reality around her, while strange to her idea of normal, had to be much less frightening than she had expected. Harry relaxed a little himself, suddenly aware that he had been a bit nervous. He was quite pleased when he felt Ginny's hand slip into his own, and turned his head to smile at her as they followed the adults.

They passed the cauldron shop and the Apothecary, and just beyond was a small bakery/café called _Mrs. Scheffelgroober's Tea & Cakes._ Harry remembered eating there a few times the summer before his third year, and had fond memories of treats from the bakery case at the front of the store, but all-in-all he had come to prefer Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for both the ice cream and the homework help.

They stepped into the white-tiled bakery area and the wonderful smells of fresh bread and pastries flooded into Harry's nostrils. Ginny pulled him over to the pastry case and began pointing out all her favorite tortes and biscuits. A jolly looking, heavy set, gray-haired witch appeared on the other side of the case. She bent to see what Harry and Ginny were looking at and upon seeing them – or rather, Harry – for who he was, through the glass, began waving excitedly. She came quickly out front through a set of counter height swinging doors, smoothing her white baker's apron as she moved. She smiled and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Mr. Harry Potter, it is such an honor to have you in my little café once again! It has been years, and you have grown so much," the gray haired witch said effusively.

"It is very nice to see you again, Mrs. Scheffelgroober," Harry replied, blushing, as Ginny elbowed him in the side teasingly.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly enough to capture Mrs. Scheffelgroober's attention, saving Harry from any further embarrassment. Mrs. Scheffelgroober regarded Mrs. Weasley and Harry's aunt and immediately assumed a more formal demeanor. "Oh yes, Molly, so good to see you. I have the table you requested ready; everything is prepared." Her voice was that of a kindly grandmother. Mrs. Scheffelgroober ushered them through an archway to the side, directing the two women into the beautifully appointed dining area. The room was all done in Victorian decoration with paintings and tapestries up high on the walls and delicate tea tables scattered about the room with flowery upholstered chairs surrounding each. Even Aunt Petunia seemed impressed with the décor as she glanced around the room, taking in the delicacy of the small kick-knacks here and there, and the fine artistry of the tapestries and paintings. Harry noted that none of the paintings were moving, and he thought this must have been arranged beforehand.

Almost immediately upon their being seated, a young man arrived pushing a wheeled tea service trolley with a steaming kettle, fine china tea service and a tiered tray of succulent biscuits, cakes, tortes and tarts, enough to make Aunt Petunia's eyes widen, and everyone smack their lips a little in anticipation. The young man began setting out sugar and cream, individual plates and forks, and set the pastry tray in the center of the table. Then he began spooning raw tea into a ball infuser, which he set into a porcelain teapot before pouring steaming water from the kettle.

Ginny was first to recognize the young man as Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw from Harry's year. He was neatly dressed in a crisp, white, tab collar shirt, a floral print vest, obviously intended to match the room, and dark slacks covered by a long white apron.

"Terry, nice to see you," Ginny said with a smile. "How long have you worked for Mrs. Scheffelgroober?"

The young man looked up from the trolley, obviously unaccustomed to being recognized at work. "Ginny!" he exclaimed, perhaps a bit more loudly than he intended. "And… and, Harry… it's nice to see you as well." He paused before continuing, "Oh… Um, just started this week…Got my Apparition license, and Dad thought it would be a good idea to get a summer job." Terry smiled a bit sheepishly and reached to shake Harry's hand.

"Terry, this is Ginny's mother, Mrs. Weasley, and my aunt, Mrs. Dursley," Harry said, gesturing with his hand as he introduced the two women. Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly, and Petunia seemed just a little taken aback. "Mrs. Weasley, Aunt Petunia, this is Terry Boot. Terry is in my year at school, though he is in a different house," Harry finished.

"It is nice to meet you, Terry," Mrs. Weasley said as she smiled. Terry bowed politely to the two women. Petunia did not speak, but somewhat hesitantly nodded recognition.

"It's great to see you having a nice start to your summer." He smiled. "I'll just pour out now, and leave you to your tea."

With that, the tea was served and Mrs. Weasley started passing round the treats from the center tray. After a few minutes, Harry noticed that his aunt seemed much more comfortable. He felt the change was pronounced and had happened rather quickly, but as Ginny's foot bumped his beneath the table, he let the thought pass.

Aunt Petunia seemed very interested in the delightfully delicate pastries and was bending Mrs. Weasley's ear about what a civilized tradition it was to take a proper tea. Both Harry and Ginny had tucked right into the treats and were soon finished with their tea as well.

Mrs. Dursley had finally become bold enough that she had begun to ask tentative questions about the wizarding world and its customs, and Molly Weasley was treating her with the warmth of an old friend and answering as best she could.

As Mrs. Weasley was pouring out a second cup, Ginny suddenly asked if she and Harry might be excused so that they could go visit the twins. Harry, who had become content to simply sit there nudging ankles with Ginny, brightened at the suggestion. "I should very much like to go round to see Fred and George quickly, if that would be okay?" he said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Well, Harry, I expect that is up to your aunt," Molly said, smiling and turning toward a rather calm and relaxed Aunt Petunia who was preoccupied with looking at all the pretty things which populated the room. In fact, Harry couldn't recall ever seeing his aunt looking so comfortable. Mrs. Weasley explained quickly that two of her sons owned a shop down the street, and that Harry and Ginny would like to go there until she and Petunia were done with their tea. To Harry's great surprise, his aunt agreed, and he and Ginny didn't hesitate to excuse themselves for a moment, but were up from the table, out past the bakery case, and through the door in a flash.

They practically sprinted through Diagon Alley, passing Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin's, and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Harry came to a stop abruptly; a very surprised Ginny, not letting go of his hand, was spun round to face him. He was standing only a few feet from a low post and chain barrier that marked the limits of the outdoor seating for Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. The area was filled with white furniture; what looked like round picnic tables with attached benches and a brightly colored umbrella above each.

"What is it, Harry?" Ginny asked him curiously after a moment of trying to figure out just what Harry was looking at. People at the tables had begun to notice them — some were pointing, and it was obvious that Harry had been recognized.

"Didn't Fortescue go missing?" Harry finally uttered, still taking in the area with an expression of fondness.

"Oh," Ginny responded, tugging at him and getting him moving again. "Yeah, Fred and George said that some relative showed up a couple of months ago and re-opened the parlor. An Irish woman named Slaine Soronen." The effort of talking while walking so quickly was obvious in Ginny's breathing. "Apparently she has a very attractive daughter… Otherwise, I am sure they wouldn't have taken notice."

Harry didn't give it another thought as they breezed past Gringotts and were quickly on down the alley, past its many other stores until they reached Number ninety-three, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The windows were filled with wondrous displays of colorful new products, and a new line of serious items intended for self-protection. Ginny had not let go of Harry's hand the whole way, and she practically pulled him into the shop.

There was the clatter of a spring bell as they entered, and Fred and George both appeared, on opposite sides of the shop, from behind the dizzying array of displays. They were both hailing him with some sort of salutation when Harry realized that Ginny not only had not let go of his hand, but was pulling him forward past her brothers, and the spattering of customers, toward the back of the shop. Harry waved at Fred and George and followed Ginny through a door into what he assumed was Fred and George's office, judging by the two desks and the general disarray. Ginny released his hand finally, closed and locked the door behind her and threw herself into Harry's arms, wrapping her own arms around his neck and kissing him.

Harry was not about to object as he felt the lips he had so missed pressed against his own, and he hugged her firmly against himself. After what must have been a couple of minutes of sound snogging, Harry finally, reluctantly, pulled away smiling. "I've missed you, too… But, aren't your brothers likely to have my head now?"

Ginny grinned up at him. "Sorry, Harry, but I just couldn't wait another second. Don't worry. The whole family knows we're a couple now, and no one is going to hex you – at least, not over a bit of harmless snogging. I suppose you can talk to my brothers now."

"Well, that's a relief." Harry grinned teasingly, his eyebrow rising curiously at her statement.

Once they were back out in the front of the shop, not a mention was made of their short use of the office. Instead, the twins were keen to ask how tea had gone. Harry quickly picked up that taking his Aunt Petunia to tea was part of the plan, and that the twins had supplied some sort of powdered calming draft which Mrs. Scheffelgroober had arranged to put in the bottom of the cup given to Harry's aunt. Harry began to object, but the twins were quick to assure him that it would not impair her judgment in any way, only calm her fears, so that she could be talked to reasonably.

"It's really very safe, Harry," Fred chimed in. "We've tested it extensively."

George continued, "Originally we developed it for witches and wizards who have trouble controlling their nerves when they go out. It seems many people don't like to leave their homes, what with You-Know-Who and all."

"Helps people maintain their composure is all it does, really. And it's selling marvelously," Fred finished.

"They call it _Weasleys' Remarkable Keep Calm Powder,"_ Ginny broke in. "And it was really Ron's idea to slip some to your aunt."

George picked up the conversation again. "Yeah, he was just sitting there last night at the dinner table when Mad-Eye came by and was telling us how you were going to make a trip to Diagon Alley with your aunt. He just looked up from his fifth roast chicken leg and said, pretty as you please, 'Not Harry's aunt, she'll be wound so tight that she'll explode; wish we could slip her some of your new calming powder, that would level her out.'," George finished with a decent enough impression of Ron, complete with a pantomime chicken leg in his hand.

Harry was about to ask where Ron was when the cellar door burst open and someone emerged carrying a large stack of variously shaped and colored boxes. "You lot wanna give me a hand?" came Ron's familiar voice. The twins hurried over and took the boxes, each heading for different displays. "Harry!" Ron exclaimed as he hurried over, smiling. "We've been wondering if you were really going to show up."

"Oh, I'm here, right enough," Harry replied with a smile, shaking Ron's hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "Bet you never thought you would see me so soon?"

"Well, that doesn't make us any less glad to see you, mate." Ron clapped Harry on the back in return. "Now, what's all this about your aunt having a Gringotts account?"

"Apparently, it was set up when I was a baby," Harry began. "My aunt said that there was a letter from a barrister, but my uncle burned it, and tried to burn the account book as well." He looked around to see if the twins were listening and when he was satisfied that they, and the few customers in the shop, were busy and out of ear-shot, he continued in a whisper so only Ron and Ginny could hear. "Dumbledore couldn't tell me anything; he was just as surprised as I was to hear about it." Harry paused, then continued normally again. "And what's funny is that it's a Gringotts account, but it has accumulated interest all these years. I've never heard of that."

"Oh," Ginny chimed in, "Gringotts has interest bearing savings accounts; you can ask Fred and George all about them. But most wizarding families don't trust the goblins enough to give them control of their money, so they just use the vaults instead." Both Ron and Harry looked at Ginny in surprise. "What?" Ginny said in response to their expressions. "I learned a long time ago to pay attention to Fred and George and not just discount their ideas."

"Well, if the Galleons were coming out of my vault every month, then Gringotts would have had to tell me, or send me some sort of statement," Harry continued on, giving Ginny's hand a light squeeze. "And I have never, ever received any such thing. So, I have no idea where the money is coming from. It's all part of the mystery."

Fred and George returned to the conversation and shared their knowledge about the wizarding banking system. "Interest accounts have always been available through Gringotts, but people just plain didn't know it because in Britain, the vault system is available to every witch and wizard at no charge," Fred explained. "That's due to an ancient Ministry decree," George chimed in. "In other countries, savings accounts are the norm." Fred continued seamlessly, "Gringotts makes investments and loans, and does lots more than just keeping everyone's money locked up in the vaults." This made all sorts of sense to Harry; he had just never given it any thought before.

"How much money are we talking about here?" Ron questioned somewhat tactlessly.

"Oh… I don't recall exactly, something over eight-hundred-thousand Galleons." Harry replied, nonplussed. "What does it matter?"

The spoken number seemed to hang in the air as each of the Weasleys appeared to be stunned into silence. Finally, Ron's voice returned following a hard, pronounced gulp. "Harry, that's a fortune!" he exclaimed.

"Is it?" Harry said with a distinctly Luna-ish air.

"Sure it is," Fred chimed in. "Harry, most wizards don't make more than four or six thousand Galleons a year."

"And the Ministry doesn't even pay that," George added, not bothering to hide his disdain, and quite obviously referring to his father's income.

There was a long pause as Harry tried to take in what they were saying. He realized that, because he had never had to think about money — before attending Hogwarts he had simply accepted that the Dursleys would never give him spending money, and after he'd turned eleven and learned of his Gringotts vault, he'd always known he had plenty — he was sadly unaware of how important it really was to nearly everyone else.

Since first meeting Ron, he had known about the Weasleys' financial struggles, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had always dismissed any discussions about it and refused every offer of help he had ever extended. In Harry's mind, the Weasleys were rich in every way that seemed to matter, so he had always completely overlooked their financial reality.

Ron's words broke through Harry's thoughts. "It's a fortune, mate – and you're just going to let the Dursleys have it?" Ron looked completely scandalized.

"Well…" Harry began, taken aback by Ron's reaction. "I don't think it's really up to me; the money is in my aunt's name."

"But what if it wasn't?" Ginny asked quietly as she squeezed his hand. "Would you just give them that much money?"

Harry contemplated this twist of the issue. He had already determined to himself that he didn't care about this money… It didn't seem to be his money, and besides, he had more Galleons than he would care to count in a vault just down the alley and who knew how far beneath the ground. And that was before his inheritance from Sirius. But this was a way of looking at it that he hadn't considered. After a moment, he responded, "Probably not, but I don't think I can really answer that. I can't think of many reasons to just _give_ the Dursleys anything. But if they really needed help, despite everything, I don't think I could just turn my back on them."

Ginny squeezed his hand and leaned into him, but Ron and the twins just stared at him rather blankly. Finally, Ron sighed heavily. "Harry… most people just aren't that forgiving."

"Oh, it's not forgiveness, really. I was thinking about it, and the thing is… the Dursleys have been afraid of me all of my life, yet they still abided by what Dumbledore asked." He paused and looked Ron directly in the eye. "Ron, what would you have done if someone had dropped an Acromantula baby off on your doorstep and said you had to take care of it for the next seventeen years, or it would most likely be killed?"

Chuckling loudly and nudging Ron hard with his shoulder, George spoke up. "After he was done screaming and flailing, he'd have come and got one of us to stomp on it."

"But you're not an eight-legged hairy monster, Harry," Fred concluded.

"To the Dursleys, I am — or perhaps something even worse." Harry's voice was beginning to rise, so he took a deep, calming breath and continued, "My very existence threatens their way of life. All they ever wanted was to be normal Muggles, but instead they had to carry around the knowledge that something else existed. A world of which they could never be a part, and that held the potential of great dangers. If not for having me, they might have been able to convince themselves that our world simply didn't exist. And they would have been much happier."

Harry could feel Ginny clinging to his arm, and holding his hand firmly, completely in support of him. Ron and the twins were staring at him, as though what he was saying was taking time to sink in.

"The whole point is — they could have just chucked me into an orphanage and been done with me, but they didn't. However they treated me, by keeping me in their home and allowing me to return each summer, they provided me with magical protection, and in a way I owe them my life for that. I don't have to like them. And I am not holding out hope that they will suddenly like me. But don't tell me I should begrudge them this money. I have more important things to think about."

Everyone was silent for a few moments before Ron spoke up. "I wish Hermione was here… She always seems to know what to say in these situations… and somehow I think she would agree with you." He smiled weakly, and shrugged his shoulders.

A few customers entered the store and the twins immediately went to help them.

Slowly, conversation resumed and Ron was soon telling Harry all about how crazy it was at The Burrow, and how he had finally agreed to come work for the twins just to get away, and to put a few Galleons in his own pocket.

Harry was taken through the shop and shown the many new products that the twins were introducing. Amidst all the conversation and between products Harry learned that Ron had received several letters from Hermione and, according to Ginny, enthusiastically replied to each one.

After about forty-five minutes Terry Boot came into the shop. After greetings all around, Terry delivered the message that Harry was to meet his aunt and Mrs. Weasley in front of Gringotts in five minutes. Terry quickly excused himself to return to work, but not before placing a small order with the twins.

Five minutes later, Harry and Ginny arrived at Gringotts, meeting Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Petunia at the foot of the white stone steps leading up to the heavy bronze doors. Harry, at first, was quite surprised to see the two women chatting pleasantly and his aunt looking very comfortable. He reminded himself about _Weasleys' Remarkable Keep Calm Powder_ and smiled appreciatively.

Once they were all together, Mrs. Weasley excused herself and Ginny so that Harry could take his aunt into the bank. They promised to be waiting at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor when Harry and his aunt were done.

As they ascended the marble stairs, Aunt Petunia commented how much she had enjoyed tea with Mrs. Weasley, and wondered aloud why she had been so dead set against her in principle for so long. "She's filled me in quite a bit about your doings at school, Harry; I had no idea that you have been doing so marvelously. Of course, the assessment system is completely unacceptable by any practical standards, but all the same, I am pleased to hear that you have not been squandering your education."

Harry braced himself for the moment that his aunt finally noticed the goblin guard at the outer door, but the moment came and went, uneventfully. Aunt Petunia was all business as they entered the bank entrance chamber, and she didn't slow down enough to bother reading the inscription on the second set of silver doors. Harry was pulling such an astonished face at this point that it caught his aunt's attention. "What is your difficulty, boy?" his aunt said, abashed, finally sounding a bit more like the aunt he had always known. "Stop making that face; I have been here before, I have an idea of what strangeness to expect, and I am an adult. And somehow none of it seems all that disturbing, anyway." The two goblins at the inner doors bowed them through.

The main hall was bustling with activity, the many goblins busy on their stools, others pushing carts of coins and gemstones from one location to another, and still others escorting witches and wizards in and out of the many side doors toward the various vaults. They paused as Harry looked around for a goblin at the forward counter that didn't seem to be with a customer.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed an odd movement. Well, not really an odd movement, just an out of place movement, as from behind the long side counter where the many goblins were weighing and counting, and writing in their ledgers, a full-sized man got up from a stool and moved with some haste toward he and his aunt. This, momentarily, struck Harry as strange, but then he reminded himself that so far the Order seemed to have planned the whole trip rather neatly, so he figured that this man was likely pre-arranged for his aunt's benefit as well.

The man approaching them was middle-aged, quite tall and thin, with a long neck and prominent Adams-apple. His hair was thinning, and graying at his temples, but otherwise nearly black. He was a kindly looking man, but Harry noted that he had rather large ears, which stuck out from the sides of his head, and his nose was quite long and thin as well. His gray eyes seemed to be smiling, contributing to his overall benevolent appearance, and he wore a dark charcoal, crisply pressed, Muggle-style suit with a white shirt and red silk tie.

"Mr. Potter," he said with the same sort of excited politeness that Harry had heard from many adults in the wizarding world when they first had the opportunity to meet him. "So very nice to have you here. I am Edwin Garron, Assistant Director of Muggle services."

Harry took the man's extended hand and shook it. "And this would be your aunt, Mrs. Petunia Dursley?" Edwin continued, turning to Petunia and shaking her hand as well. "One of our employees, Bill Weasley, informed me that you would be visiting this morning; I am so pleased to be of service."

Mr. Garron took them from the main hall down an adjacent hallway and into a large office, clearly decorated and furnished in Muggle fashion. Once they were seated at a large, polished wood table, he asked Aunt Petunia for her account book and, upon examining it for a curiously long couple of minutes, went to a wall of large, thick, leather-bound books, pulled down one of the many identical-looking volumes and paged through it until he found whatever it was he was looking for, whereupon he made some small, curious noises common to recognition and understanding, and looked up at Aunt Petunia. "Very well, Mrs. Dursley, how exactly may I help you today?"

"I would like you to tell me about this account, where the money is coming from and whether it can be converted into money that is useful to me." Petunia was quite business-like now and did not seem overly anxious, or even greedy.

Mr. Garron cleared his throat importantly. "Well, I will tell you what I can, Mrs. Dursley." He consulted the large book once more, looking away only briefly. "This account was set up as a fund to provide for Mr. Potter's care, just after he was given into your custody some years ago. I cannot tell you where the money comes from, as I do not have that information, though I can tell you that it does not come from Mr. Potter's vault on these premises. The account originates from our bank location in Switzerland, and yes, the funds can be converted into British pounds for your use." Mr. Garron paused. "However, there are some stipulations on the account."

Aunt Petunia's face dropped into a disappointed frown. "What sorts of stipulations?" she asked pointedly.

"Firstly, the funds were intended to be withdrawn on a monthly basis for ongoing use. As they have remained untouched all this time, they were not, and can no longer be, used for their intended purpose. Under the terms of the account, any accumulated interest and unused balance is to be held in trust for Mr. Potter and added to his vault upon his seventeenth birthday. Further, the deposits will end once Mr. Potter comes of age, so that means that there will be one more deposit of two hundred Galleons on July first, and one more interest payment calculated on the balance on July thirty-first. Thereafter, the account will be closed and the remaining balance placed in Mr. Potter's vault." Edwin took a deep breath, looking quite sympathetic. "I can cash out this month's deposit for you, and convert it into pounds, but that is all the funds that I am allowed to disburse."

Aunt Petunia's head had dropped and Harry thought he saw a tear forming at the corner of her eye. "If I had clearly known that this was real money, I would have seen that it was used as it was intended," she said with a slight break in her voice. "All these years, we believed that my nephew was left with us without any provision for his care, even though we knew that his father had been wealthy…" she paused, sniffling slightly. "I know you do not understand this. When Harry started school and he obviously had money from an inheritance, it made my husband even more bitter than he had been. When that account book originally came, we assumed it was a joke because it wasn't anything we recognized."

Mr. Garron offered Petunia a handkerchief, which she took gratefully. "I understand, Mrs. Dursley, but the terms of the account are quite specific, and it is not within my power to alter them."

Harry interrupted then, speaking for the first time since entering Mr. Garron's office. "However, would I be correct in assuming that it is within _my_ power?"

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry with shock and surprise; Mr. Garron, too, looked over at Harry, though his expression was far less specific. "I would guess that would be true, Mr. Potter," he said after a long moment. "What is it you have in mind?"

Harry looked over at his aunt. "What I have in mind is that I don't care about the money." Harry felt his emotion rising, and his voice caught a little in his throat. "It was no secret that I was resented in your home." He was focused now on his aunt and was speaking directly to her. "I was never loved. You and Uncle Vernon were anything but kind to me, and certainly not once generous. You lavished gifts and affection upon your own son and allowed him both to flaunt his possessions, and tease and taunt me endlessly. I only ever had Dudley's hand-me-down toys as a child, and have always had to endure his old clothing. Once in a great while I got something from a charity shop, and was constantly reminded of how much extra it cost to look after me."

Harry paused to regulate his quickening breath; he was getting angry and he could hear it in his own voice. Edwin Garron was now looking with a rather horrified expression at Petunia, who herself was staring, wide-eyed, at her nephew, and turning several shades of flushed pink with embarrassment and shame.

Harry couldn't help feeling that he would be justified to be hateful and bitter toward the Dursleys, but that was not what he felt. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt, except that he understood somehow that they had been an obstacle that he had survived, and he had become the young man he was today in spite of them — perhaps even because of them.

They had done all they could to crush his spirit and to prevent him from learning he was a wizard; when that had not worked, they had belittled him and insulted him and continued to act as if he had been a total burden upon them his entire life.

He should hate them… instead… he pitied them, for the narrow, rigid and ultimately frightened lives they had led together at Privet Drive. Money was not going to make them any better; they would still be frightened, prejudiced and narrow minded. Harry's victory over the Dursleys would be complete when he walked out their door on Privet Drive for the last time. It had been a silent, patient and determined battle that he had won, not by conscious action, but by becoming who he was. To have been loved in their household and simply become another Dursley…to have turned out anything like his cousin, Dudley, from his point of view, would have been the worst disservice imaginable.

"No one would blame me if I hated you," Harry began again in a solemn, determined tone. "But I don't. The truth is… despite everything, I never have hated you." Harry looked away as his aunt began to sob into the handkerchief she held. "You, Aunt Petunia, are my only biological family, and even if it has pained you and embarrassed you greatly, I am your only link to a sister you must have, at some point in your life, loved. We share blood, and that alone has protected me thus far through my life; that means something to me." Harry paused. "You may have feared and resented your sister, and despised the life she chose, but you did so out of the worst kind of prejudice, based on ignorance and irrational fear… But she was your sister, and I know in my heart that she never stopped loving you."

There was a final long pause in which Petunia sobbed again heavily, and Mr. Garron just stared unbelievingly at Harry. "You can have the money; I want nothing to do with it. Just consider it the inheritance you thought you deserved and never got. But… I think… since there is apparently quite a bit of it, I would like to see some of it, say at least a quarter of it, go to the Weasleys. I know they wouldn't want it, and if you asked them they would refuse it, but they have been more of a family to me in the last six years than you have cared to be for my lifetime and longer. The Weasleys have made a place for me in their family, and offered me love for no other reason than that they had it to give. So I think they deserve the money as much as, probably more than, you do. But, it is in your name. So, take it, and you decide." There was no hint of bitterness in Harry's voice, just a clear expression of sadness and disappointment. He had grown up, and he no longer accepted the position of disappointment to the Dursleys — instead, they were now only a disappointment to him.

There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Mr. Garron straightened up in his chair and looked down at the large book with a sort of wonder. "Is that your final word, Mr. Potter?" he asked without looking up.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Very well, then," Mr. Garron said, smiling at him, and he closed the large book and pushed it to the side of his desk. "I must say, Mr. Potter, you are a most remarkable young man, and I mean that beyond your fame and the speculation regarding your role in the future of the wizarding world."

"Thank you, Mr. Garron," Harry responded automatically. He was suddenly feeling a little embarrassed at the mention of who he was in the wizarding world. His aunt was looking at him with a confused wonder, as if she had only now seen him for the very first time.

"If you please, sir," Harry interrupted, before Mr. Garron could say whatever he was about to. "If there is no further need for my presence, I should like to go and wait for my aunt across the street at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor."

Edwin nodded graciously. "Of course, Mr. Potter, it should not take long now to arrange the transfer of funds, provided that Mrs. Dursley has brought information concerning her regular banking arrangements?" He looked over at Petunia with the question, and she nodded affirmatively and reached for the purse at her feet. "I will personally see that your aunt is escorted to find you when we are finished."

"Thank you, sir," Harry responded, and got up from his chair. He dug a small slip of paper, a thin leather coin purse, and a golden key out of his front pocket. "Finally, sir, if it would not be too much trouble, I wonder if you could have some Galleons retrieved from my vault for me and some of it converted into Muggle notes? I have written the amounts down here." He handed the purse, key and note to Mr. Garron.

"Of course, Mr. Potter, I will see to it immediately and have it for you when I bring your aunt."

Harry nodded his thanks and quietly left the room, finding himself moments later standing in the sun, on the bright marble steps of Gringotts, feeling as though his life had just turned a pivotal corner.

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**NEXT**  
Chapter Seven  
**Muggle Shopping**


	8. Muggle Shopping

Chapter Seven  
**Muggle Shopping**

The sundae at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor was heavenly. Harry knew that he shouldn't be spoiling his lunch, but after the scene in the bank he wanted something comforting and ice cream just seemed to fit the bill. The woman Ginny had mentioned had come out to meet him once word of his presence had filtered through the ice cream parlor. She was a very pleasant woman, a tall strawberry blonde named Slaine Soronen, with a Gaelic lilt to her voice. By way of introduction she had confirmed that she was a relative of Florean Fortescue's – a granddaughter-in-law, to be specific, but the only living family the Ministry could find. She hadn't taken much of Harry's time but, like so many members of the wizarding world, she had been very excited to meet him.

Harry was becoming aware that passers-by in the alley were noticing him; small groups lingering close at shop windows were pointing and whispering. Between summers with the Dursleys, and all the rest of his time at school or with the Weasleys, he had always been somewhat sheltered from the public's eyes. He was in fact famous, but he had been sheltered from that fame – something which he was sure had been part of what Dumbledore wanted for him.

If that had been part of Dumbledore's plan it had worked fairly well up until his fourth year. Yes, he had gone through periods in school, during his third and fourth years particularly, when he was treated differently, but the fact was he had never really experienced the full weight of the public's attention.

Before fourth year he had been _'The Boy Who Lived'_, a living legend, distinguishable only by a scar, so people didn't always know him in public. There was the one time that Gilderoy Lockhart had identified him in _Flourish and Blotts_, and gotten his picture in the paper, but fortunately Lockhart had meant to steal all the fame of that incident. However, once he was in the Triwizard tournament, a year later, Rita Skeeter had put his picture, along with her own version of his story, in every wizard household, and he had lost that little anonymity.

Following the skirmish in the Ministry at the end of his fifth year, and confirmation that Voldemort was in fact a real threat once more, he had gotten even more public attention – thanks to speculation on the part of the _Daily Prophet_ – and become _'The Chosen One'_, an epithet he liked even less than the first. So, now everyone knew exactly what he looked like, scar or no, and many – maybe most – believed and hoped that he was the only one who could defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry suspected that the prevalence of that belief had skyrocketed in the wake of Dumbledore's murder.

Having people – strangers – pointing and noticing him was an experience that he had had before, when he was much younger, but it had happened only occasionally in isolated instances, and he had been happily ignorant of the reason for it. When he had first gone to Hogwarts, many of the students had pointed, but that was somehow different; he had been more-or-less a myth they had grown up with, and the pointing had stopped once his identity was confirmed.

This recognition, out in public, was somehow new — somehow different. He didn't particularly care for it, and he found that it was beginning to make him feel a little nervous.

The Dumbledore card's theory about him being seen in public benefiting general morale came back to him. He had never wanted fame, just as he had never wanted to be orphaned, or to be raised by his aunt and uncle. It was all rather confusing, but he knew that there was a reason why Dumbledore had brought it up. He sensed that there was something to it… something useful about his fame… some _way_ he should use it. But he just couldn't quite understand what that _way_ was. So he tried to ignore the passing people who whispered and pointed. Instead he attempted to concentrate on his ice cream. Sitting at Fortescue's once again, in the open air on a sunny day, brought back fond memories of summer three years before, and soon he was ignoring the people; instead, he was focusing on Ginny… and her mother, Mrs. Weasley.

As they savored their sundaes, Harry told Ginny and Molly all about what had happened in the bank, though he left out the part about wanting the Weasleys to have some of the money. He had been honest with his aunt, but he had also nearly lost his temper and was feeling a twinge of regret now. In his experience with the Dursleys, the speaking of his mind was a punishable offence, though he doubted greatly that his aunt would ever tell his uncle about what he'd said.

Harry took some comfort in the idea that he only had another week to go with the Dursleys and he would be able then to pass out of their lives, and they out of his. A fortnight was all that had been required the previous summer and Dumbledore had confirmed that that would be enough to guarantee the magical protection through till his birthday.

"I am very proud of you, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said as she reached across the table and squeezed his hand gently. "I know your aunt has not treated you as a son, but she is family, and family is important." Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley was being completely sincere. Something had changed during her morning's conversation with his aunt. Gone was the usual lack of understanding that caused confusion and sometimes disgust toward the Dursleys and their treatment of Harry over the years.

"It is uncommonly generous of you to help your aunt and uncle, and I must say it shows a maturity beyond your years to be so forgiving," Mrs. Weasley said, watching Harry closely.

Harry met Mrs. Weasley's gaze. "It wasn't generosity," he said. "Or forgiveness."

Mrs. Weasley frowned a little. "Well, what do you call letting your aunt have an account full of money, then?"

Harry frowned in return. "If it were generosity, it would have to be giving of myself. I don't even know where this money came from. It's not like I reached in and gave them money out of my vault. I don't think I could do that. And it's not forgiveness, either."

Mrs. Weasley frowned more deeply. "I see, Harry… but to the rest of us it looks like generosity."

"I see that, Mrs. Weasley, but believe me, that's not it, and honestly, I'm a bit tired of having to explain myself. I just don't want that money. Would you rather I gave it to you? You certainly deserve it more than my aunt and uncle." Harry could hear his voice rising again and he tried to calm himself. He could feel Ginny's eyes upon him, but he held her mother's gaze rather than look over.

"Certainly not!" Molly exclaimed. "Harry, I… we… Arthur and I, we don't want anything from you, least of all your money."

"I know that, Mrs. Weasley…" He wanted to say he was sorry for raising his voice, but his throat seemed to lock up at the thought.

"Harry…" Mrs. Weasley's voice was softer now, with purposeful calm. "It's just that, after speaking with your aunt this morning, I think she needed to hear how you felt. I think she may have the potential to come around and change her mind a little with regard to the wizarding world. I thought you had seen that… I thought perhaps that was why you were giving her the money."

"No… I mean, I have noticed she has been nicer than ever before this past week, but that's not saying much… I figured it was just because she didn't have Dudley to pamper."

"I see…" Mrs. Weasley said, but looked thoroughly confused just the same. "Well, at least with the money the Dursleys will be able to go into hiding once you come of age."

"Go into hiding," Harry said, surprised. "Why should the Dursleys need to go into hiding?"

"Haven't you ever thought, Harry, that the protection you receive while you're a part of the Dursley household goes both ways?" Molly said matter-of-factly.

"No, I've never thought that… and no one has ever suggested anything like that before. Why should they need to hide; what would Voldemort want with them?"

"Harry, they are your only relatives and, Muggles or not, that is enough."

Harry was dumbstruck by this development. It made complete sense, and yet it had never occurred to him before this.

"I suppose you're right," Harry finally said resignedly. He did not relish the idea of having to break this news to his aunt and uncle. "I just wish this next week was over. I'm tired of thinking about everything that needs to be done. I was hoping for a nice cheerful day today… I thought I might even manage to get my aunt to take me shopping so I could buy some new clothes." He tugged at the oversized shirt he was wearing to demonstrate the need.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. "You're right, all of these things can wait until another day." She looked at him with deep concern; it was the look of a mother worried about her child.

Harry was slipping into a torrent of thoughts he didn't want to deal with at the moment. He dropped his spoon in his dish with a slight clank. He was no longer remotely interested in the ice cream.

A rather attractive, dark blonde waitress came to remove their dishes. She seemed to be about Harry's age, but Harry was thinking too hard to notice. The young woman smiled brightly at Harry as she asked, in a lilting, flirty voice, if he "desired" anything else.

"I'm fine," Harry replied rather automatically, his mind still processing what Mrs. Weasley had said. He was vaguely aware that she was leaning rather close as she gathered the dishes, but he was too distracted to give it a thought.

Finally she pointed at her name tag and said, "Well, if you need anything else, just ask for Kellie." She stepped away with a rather exaggerated bounce to her step.

As Harry looked up he noticed immediately the scowls on Ginny and Mrs. Weasley's faces. He couldn't help but look over his shoulder to see if there was something behind him to elicit such looks of disdain.

"What is it?" Harry finally asked.

Ginny simply huffed and crossed her arms, looking strikingly like the fifteen-year-old girl that she was.

"Oh, Harry dear, it's not you," Mrs. Weasley said rather consolingly. "It's the way that… waitress was flirting with you."

"She was what?" Harry said animatedly, suddenly yanked into full awareness of his surroundings. He realized that he was smiling, and he quickly scowled. "Hm… I hadn't noticed… Honestly!" he pleaded.

Ginny huffed again, but Mrs. Weasley leaned over and patted his hand gently. "I know you didn't, dear; it's just part of being famous, I guess."

Before Harry could respond he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the approach of a small, thin wizard carrying a large, blocky looking camera. He was rapidly reloading it as he moved. With him was a tall, dark-skinned witch wearing bright, sky blue robes and carrying a small pad. A quill and ink bottle bobbed along in the air near the pad, weaving and dipping with her movements. She snatched the quill as she approached and came to a halt right next to their table, just the other side of the post and chain barrier.

Harry felt a swelling of irritation. He had been counting on something like this happening, but he hadn't considered that the timing would be so abrupt and sudden.

"Imani Nowell, Mr. Potter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter," she said in a single excited breath. "What brings you to Diagon Alley today?"

Harry stammered a little under the sudden questioning. Then, he took a deep breath and steadied himself.

"Our readers would be so interested to know your opinions regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And, as the 'Chosen One', exactly how you intend to defeat him – and when, of course?"

Harry hesitated momentarily, but stood up and stepped over to the chain. The photographer's flash burst again and the small man began reloading almost immediately. "Mrs.? Miss? Nowell," Harry said in what sounded like a completely rehearsed voice. He held out his hand to her.

The woman was clearly five or more years Harry's senior, but she blushed deeply and shook his hand. "You may call me Imani, Mr. Potter."

"Nice to meet you, Imani." Harry smiled. "Well, if your readers must know, I am just enjoying a sundae and spending time with Mrs. Molly Weasley and her daughter Ginevra. Nothing of any interest, I'm afraid." He smiled uncomfortably again, this time intentionally letting the photographer get a good shot from an angle that would block the Weasleys behind him.

"The whole wizarding community is hungry for news of you, Harry," Imani continued, now scribbling notes with her quill. "What have you been up to since the term ended at Hogwarts, how do you feel about the death of the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and do you think the school should re-open for next term?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk about any of that at the moment," Harry responded. "However, I will say, I do think that Hogwarts should re-open."

"And what about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Imani asked again.

"Excuse me, Imani, but I'm here with friends, I'm not interested in giving an interview. So I'll tell you what. How 'bout you and your photographer friend leave us alone and in exchange, I will grant you a one-on-one interview later?"

The woman's eyes grew large with excitement. "You would do that? Grant me a personal interview?" she said excitedly.

"Sure, but only if you leave me alone for now. Use what you already have, and as long as you write the truth, I'll give you an interview."

"And I can ask anything?"

Harry chuckled. "Yes… But I'm not promising that I'll answer."

Imani gave Harry a long quizzical look. The photographer next to her was just about to snap another image when her hand thrust out and covered the lens. "Alright, Mr. Potter, you have a deal."

"Good."

"And how shall we make these arrangements?"

"I'll contact the paper with instructions," Harry responded. "In just over a week."

Imani produced a small card from beneath her robes. "My card," she said simply. "In just over a week, then."

Harry held the card up and nodded, and the reporter turned on her heels and departed, practically dragging her photographer with her.

"Wow, Harry, that was brilliant," Ginny said as he returned to his chair. Apparently all thought of the flirty waitress was gone — which pleased Harry very much.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, beaming. "You handled that like it happens to you every day, almost as though it was rehearsed."

"Well, it sort of was," Harry confessed. "I suspected that something like that would happen when I knew I would be coming to Diagon Alley. So I sort of mentally prepared."

"Harry… You have grown up so," Mrs. Weasley said proudly.

Just then Ginny pointed out that Harry's aunt had emerged from the bank doors and was coming down the steps.

Harry turned to look and, true to his word, Edwin Garron was accompanying his aunt.

Mr. Garron had spotted Harry and the Weasleys and was steering her toward them. They came into the chained area and right up to the table. Harry, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley stood as they approached.

Aunt Petunia was wearing what Harry knew to be a pleased expression, though her somewhat horsy face appeared rather pinched and uncomfortable. She was looking all around the alley now, reluctantly, taking in the sights and sounds of the place, it seemed.

Mr. Garron bowed slightly to Molly and Ginny and then without ceremony handed Harry his coin purse, key and note. "I have taken care of that matter for you, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied genuinely.

"Well, I believe we have managed all our business today, and your aunt is returned to you safely, so I must return to the bank." Mr. Garron bowed politely.

Mrs. Weasley reached out to shake Mr. Garron's hand. "Thank you so much for all your help today, Edwin," she said, smiling warmly.

"My pleasure, Molly – I do hope Bill is recovering nicely?"

"Oh yes, Fleur is nursing him constantly. We will see you at the wedding?"

"Wouldn't miss it, of course; Bill is so well liked at the bank. We are all very pleased to hear he is improving." Mr. Garron smiled pleasantly. "Well, good day to you all, I must be off."

In a chorus of "thank yous", Edwin Garron turned and briskly departed.

There was an odd moment of quiet before Mrs. Weasley turned to Aunt Petunia and asked if she would like to sit down.

"Thank you, no…" Petunia hesitated, but then seemed to gain resolve. "…I would really be pleased if I could return to more familiar surroundings now." She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"I was so hoping you would let us show you more of the alley, Mrs. Dursley," Mrs. Weasley said pointedly. Molly had fixed a rather steely gaze upon Harry's aunt, though her voice remained friendly and conversational. "I rather thought you might want to take Harry shopping for some new clothes; there are several very good clothiers right here in the alley; Madam Malkin's, for instance, sells most excellent robes."

Petunia looked at Harry and her expression became rather embarrassed. There was no way she could deny that Harry indeed could use some new things; after all, he was standing there in a baggy pair of Dudley's hand-me-down jeans, a worn sweatshirt, and a pair of torn trainers.

Petunia turned back to Molly. "You are right. Harry could use some new clothes." She was being pleasant enough, but to Harry she sounded a bit reluctant, and even though he suspected he might pay for it in some way later, he appreciated what Mrs. Weasley was doing, appealing to his aunt's sense of status and propriety to manipulate her into some generosity.

Petunia appeared to be thinking rapidly, weighing her options. "Actually… perhaps you all might want to venture out into London… I was just thinking I might take you to Barret Cross Shopping Centre. I have never been myself, and I have always wanted to go." Petunia seemed genuinely enthusiastic all of a sudden, quite a change from Harry's point-of-view, but he assumed that her newfound wealth was behind the transformation. The idea of going to a Muggle shopping centre pleased him.

Mrs. Weasley looked rather concerned, as though her plan had suddenly backfired. But, before she could raise any objections, Ginny grabbed her arm. "Oh, Mother, could we? Could we please? We never venture out into the Muggle world… It would be such an adventure!"

Mrs. Weasley looked down at her bright-eyed, excited daughter, then rather pleadingly over at Harry before looking again at Ginny. Her expression softened, and she spoke: "Yes, I suppose we could, as long as Mrs. Dursley is willing to act as our guide." She looked around a little; Harry wondered if she was looking for some part of the Order's security, and he imagined for a moment that somewhere Alastor Moody was furious with them.

"If we are agreed, I have grocery shopping to do later today, so I should very much like to be about it," Aunt Petunia said with a forced smile. Now that she had accomplished her purpose in being here, Petunia seemed to be rather keen to return to more familiar environs.

Harry pulled a Galleon from his coin purse and set it on the table, and without delay they were off up the alley toward the courtyard wall to the _Leaky Cauldron_. Harry caught sight of the owls outside _Eeylops Owl Emporium_, and remembered that he was getting very low on owl treats for Hedwig.

"If it isn't too much trouble, Aunt Petunia, I would like to pick up some treats for my… for Hedwig while I'm here?"

Mrs. Dursley stopped and turned, seeing the many owls in cages and on perches at the entrance to the Owl Emporium. Her nose crinkled up in disapproving recognition, but she relented. "Yes, Harry, but please be quick about it; I don't want to take too much more time."

Harry tugged at Ginny's sleeve. "C'mon, Ginny, you can help me pick something."

The inside of the shop was shadowed and dim. Cages hung from chains and cords all across the ceiling and perches were scattered everywhere. A large tawny owl hooted as they stepped into the shop, and the other owls started a low chatter. The many birds were preening and calling, each seeming to want to make a good impression. Harry spied the open bins of owl treats toward the back of the store and he made his way directly there. He already, in his opinion, owned the best owl in all of Britain, so he had very little interest in looking at the many proud birds in the shop. Ginny, however, was immediately distracted and was pointing out the various owls, excitedly.

She let go of Harry's hand and disappeared down an aisle, as Harry went on to the bins and filled a paper bag with Hedwig's favorite treats. Once he had filled a two pound bag he went in search of Ginny.

He moved slowly between the cages and perches, noticing now the beautiful birds in the Emporium. He stopped for a moment to stroke the breast feathers of a magnificent great grey. He clucked his tongue in the way that Hedwig always seemed to appreciate, and then he heard Ginny nearby, cooing and clucking at an owl in the next aisle. He quickly went around the end of the aisle and came up behind Ginny to see the owl she was giving all her attention to.

"Isn't he beautiful, Harry?" she exclaimed.

"Bubo Scandiacus," came a low, throaty voice from behind the cage. "The ghost owl… a male, this one… smaller than the females of the species but almost entirely white. He's got only two light grey bands across his tail, making him a rarity among snowys. I've only ever seen one other anything like him. That must a' been about six years ago. A gorgeous female - sold that one to a huge, scruffy fella, who I would'a swore knew exactly how special she was. He saw her, and wouldn't have any other. Wish I knew whatever became of her."

Harry and Ginny looked at one another and smiled; he had to be referring to Hedwig.

The man came between the aisles beneath a tall perch. He was a short, rather thin man, who seemed to be more legs than torso. His face was broad and rather round, and he wore large, round-rimmed glasses with very thick lenses that exaggerated the size of his eyes, and made him appear distinctly owlish. His head was cocked to one side as he spoke and he kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, further adding to the impression that he might have been part owl himself.

"I don't get a lot of call for snowy owls, not native to Britain, you know… And they are especially difficult birds to enchant. They are so intelligent that they choose to allow the enchantments to take or not by themselves. Most I've ever sold have abandoned their buyers and flown back to the artic - but the right bird… with the right owner… you're not going to get a more devoted, or cleverer service animal."

The owl was nipping gently at Ginny's finger and making possessive, affectionate sounds that were familiar to Harry, through his relationship with Hedwig.

"He really seems to like you, Miss," the man said… then he blinked several times and looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny. "Or is it Mrs.?"

Ginny blushed furiously and shot Harry a highly embarrassed look. "Oh, no, sir," Harry stammered. "We're not married."

The owlish man leaned a little toward Harry and blinked several more times. "Sorry," he said finally. "Eyesight isn't quite like the owls' anymore… wish it were." He turned his attention back to Ginny, who was cooing quietly at the white owl. "He sure seems to be taken with you, Miss, first customer I've seen him take a shine to. Ever seen another owl anything like this one?"

Ginny smiled at Harry teasingly and turned back to the man. "Yes, sir, I'm a Hogwarts student, and that Harry Potter boy… he has a snowy owl named Hedwig that I've seen once or twice."

"Oh, yes, yes… I had heard mention that the _'Chosen One'_ had a very special owl companion - maybe the only Snowy Post Owl active in all of Britain. I should like to get a good look at that bird some day."

"We'd better get going, Ginny," Harry interrupted. "We promised not to take too long."

"Well, are you interested in this owl, then, Miss?" the man inquired.

"Oh, I wish!" Ginny exclaimed sadly. "But I can't afford him, and when my parents get a new owl for the family, I don't think they'll consider such a lovely bird. We just came in for treats for Har… his owl." She turned away from the beautiful owl and winked at Harry, despite a rather disappointed expression.

Harry drew up the price tag hanging from the snowy owl's cage; he looked at the number printed there and then silently let the tag drop.

They accompanied the man to the front counter, where Harry paid for the bag of treats and picked up a roll of _Invisi-line_, waste-vanishing cage liners.

Moments later they were together with their aunt and mother respectively and moving back through the _Leaky Cauldron_, and out into the sunny streets of London.

Now it was Mrs. Weasley's turn to seem a little nervous and out of place, as they walked back to the car park to retrieve Uncle Vernon's sedan. Aunt Petunia gave the attendant her ticket and a few minutes later a driver brought the car down to them. Mrs. Dursley did a careful walk around and inspected the vehicle before moving to get in. The driver was standing nearby in anticipation of receiving a tip but when it was obvious that none would be forthcoming he turned away, grumbling under his breath.

Harry helped Mrs. Weasley get in to the front passenger seat and showed her how to work the seatbelt. "My husband, Arthur, would be absolutely fascinated by all of this," she said, as they pulled out of the car park, and onto the street.

Harry was wondering how Moody had taken the news that they were leaving Diagon Alley to go to a Muggle shopping centre. He had looked for him in the _Leaky Cauldron_ as they passed through, but seen no sign. He was sure that the Order would be able to manage whatever security he had deemed necessary.

As they moved down the road Harry suddenly caught a glimpse of what looked like the shadow of a broom rider flash across the second story of one of the buildings, but of course no broom or rider was visible anywhere above them. Harry settled into the soft seat, grabbed Ginny's hand and smiled, rolling his eyes as he listened to his aunt talking animatedly to Mrs. Weasley.

It took about fifteen minutes to drive to Barret Cross, which Aunt Petunia had been telling them about most of the way. It was apparently the first totally indoor shopping centre constructed in England and contained some one hundred and twenty stores, cafés and restaurants, which Petunia seemed determined to list. Harry had begun to think that it must be quite like Diagon Alley, only with a roof over everything. He couldn't have been more wrong.

After they'd parked the car and made their way toward the entrance, it occurred to Harry just how much of the Muggle world he had never experienced. Over the years he had been to supermarkets, charity shops, the occasional doctor's office visit, school and even the London Zoo, but the Dursleys had always avoided taking him anywhere when it could be helped. He felt as though, for the most part, he had only glimpsed the broader Muggle world in small doses, through the television viewing habits of the Dursleys, and through books and films he had been exposed to in primary school, or odd newspapers and magazines left lying about the Dursleys' home.

This shopping centre was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Instead of the frivolous, other-worldly, medieval feeling of most architecture he had encountered in the wizarding world, this was spectacularly sleek and straight, and modern, glass, metal and polished stone, and everywhere brightly lit by the unwavering, non-flickering light of electricity, so unlike the torches of Hogwarts.

Harry couldn't help but think what it must be like for Ginny and her mother to be experiencing all of this, with virtually no experience of the Muggle world. He watched Ginny for a moment and he chuckled as he saw her eyes wider than ever before and her mouth gaping in wonder.

They walked around at first in a sort of daze, just taking it all in, oohing and ahhing at the dizzying array of shops, and the spectacular colors and variety. To her credit, Aunt Petunia seemed to understand their reactions and even share in their excitement to a small extent as, after all, it was her first visit to this shopping centre as well. Whatever she was thinking, Harry was glad that she was not making her usual pestering, disapproving comments.

They came, eventually, to the center of the building, where a huge atrium opened up, revealing a whole second level to the place with more brightly lit shops above and skylights letting in the sun. There was a large, round fountain with a stream of water that shot up higher than the second floor, and came splashing back down again. On one side of the atrium were a pair of moving staircases, which Harry explained to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were called escalators.

Aunt Petunia simply followed quietly, her face only slightly disapproving as the Weasleys rushed from shop display to shop display, excited about each new Muggle item they encountered. Finally she announced that they should go to _Marks & Spencer,_ where they spent the next hour clothes shopping.

As Harry was picking out clothes for himself he noted with a hint of unexpected jealousy that his aunt had begun picking out considerably larger sizes, obviously for Dudley. He shrugged it off, however, reminding himself that he really shouldn't have expected any less. It seemed that whatever Harry decided on, Petunia pulled out one or more of the same for Dudley.

Harry had also said to Ginny that she should pick out a few things for herself, and told Mrs. Weasley that she could select a few things for Ron, and he had plenty of Muggle money himself to pay for everything. They tried to refuse at first, but he insisted and they were soon enjoying every moment shopping themselves rather than just watching Harry. It was a complete surprise, when they finally went to the cashier that Aunt Petunia insisted on paying for everything. Harry assumed she was just feeling the power of her new money, rather than actually being generous, and he tucked his own money away without complaint.

Between stores they stopped for lunch from one of the food court vendors. Harry and Ginny tried the cheeseburgers and french-fries that Dudley seemed to love so much, but Harry had always been denied. Afterward they continued shopping.

Harry was completely loaded down with parcels by the time they arrived back at the atrium. He had gotten more clothes than he had ever owned in his life; several pairs of new jeans, cargo pants, button down shirts, T-shirts, sweatshirts, jumpers, and more than a week's worth of new socks and boxers. He seriously doubted that he would even need to do laundry every week. They had even gone to a shoe store and bought him a couple of new pairs of trainers. Aunt Petunia called it a good start at a new wardrobe and uncharacteristically seemed to be enjoying herself directing him in and out of dressing rooms, as she picked out items for her son and husband as well.

Somewhere along the line she had rented a small trolley to carry all the parcels. Harry was completely dizzy with the whole experience, and flabbergasted to see his aunt unexpectedly seeming to enjoy herself as well. He supposed that his words in the bank had gotten through to her and that her sudden participation was perhaps the product of guilt, while the feigned generosity was merely the coming into what he now understood was quite a bit of money. Whatever the case, Harry was actually enjoying himself.

When Petunia suggested that they all find a café and have an afternoon tea, Harry asked if he and Ginny might be allowed to explore a little more, and get something to drink from the food court instead. Aunt Petunia seemed quite content with the suggestion — she was used to not giving him a care as long as he didn't get into trouble — but Mrs. Weasley was far more hesitant. Molly seemed to be looking around nervously. She hesitantly agreed, but insisted that they stay within the confines of the shopping centre.

Harry and Ginny agreed to her terms without hesitation, and Aunt Petunia directed them to a sidewall where there was a huge expanse of large lockers. She had Harry load all the bags into three lockers, and then deposited coins and withdrew the keys. As she pushed her rented trolley into a return gate at the end of a long column of trolleys, she pointed at a clock up on the wall and said, "We will meet back here in one hour. Then we will really have to leave so that there will be time enough to do the weekly grocery shopping before I have to pick up Vernon from work."

They all nodded their heads in agreement. Not even the passing mention of his Uncle Vernon could dampen Harry's spirits; he was having far more fun than he had expected. The only thing that could have made the shopping better, he thought, would be to have Ron and Hermione here to share it as well. For the very first time in his life, his aunt handed him some money, smiled, though somewhat stiffly, and said, "Have fun."

Aunt Petunia turned, leading Mrs. Weasley away toward a café they had passed earlier, and Harry and Ginny took off in the opposite direction, toward the food court. They didn't run as they had through Diagon Alley, but took their time and slipped into various shops, ogling and sniggering over the fascinating variety of useless – though often intriguing – Muggle items.

In one store they saw an amazing array of glass figurines, and a wall full of clocks. Another had an impressive display of small pianos, which the salesman referred to as "digital" that played music all by themselves. If Harry and Ginny had not known these were Muggle objects, they'd have sworn that they were charmed.

The variety was apparently endless as Harry and Ginny wandered from store to store. In one store of nothing but candles, Ginny was absolutely amazed by the scented candles and practically begged Harry to buy some for her mother. They left that store with a bag full of cinnamon and vanilla candles for The Burrow. Harry suspected that the vanilla ones would most likely end up in Ginny's room.

Finally they reached the food court and each got a fruit smoothie from a place called _LoveJuice._ As they sat on metal stools at a small, circular table of bright red Formica, Ginny just grinned at the bustling Muggles around her. "Harry, I never imagined that the Muggle world was like this… I mean... I guess I don't know what I thought it was like, but this is every bit as fun as Diagon Alley."

Harry just grinned, shaking his head in agreement. "Ginny," he said, "I may have been raised by Muggles, but this is the very first time I've ever been here. This is all new to me too."

"I'm glad we got to be here together," Ginny said with a smile that was full of promise.

"Ginny," Harry continued, suddenly serious, "I'm sorry about the funeral. I mean... Well, I thought it would be best if…"

Ginny grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Harry," she said, interrupting. "I understand… So let's just not talk about it." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm not asking you for anything but honesty, okay? I'm just sixteen in about two months, and you're coming of age just before that. We've one more year at Hogwarts together, and I have another year after that. I don't know what the future holds, I'm not Professor Trelawney."

Harry gave a chuckle at that and nodded his agreement.

"Just promise me that whatever happens with us, you'll tell me what you feel in your heart?"

Harry stared at her for a moment, her bright brown eyes boring into his. "I promise…" he said finally, "…to tell you how I feel about you… about us, good, bad or otherwise. But I'm not going to promise that I'll not try to protect you. Or that I'll take you with me for all the tasks I may have to perform in the months ahead." He continued to stare into her eyes.

She squeezed his hand again. "Agreed."

When they had finished their smoothies they went up the escalator to the second floor and headed for a novelty shop that they had seen earlier. The store was filled with lots of Muggle joke items, 'Magic tricks', and lots of interesting lamps, including something called a 'lava lamp' which fascinated both of them for several minutes. They determined together that they should make it a point to bring the twins back here sometime in the future.

As they were leaving the shop Ginny spied a booth along an expanse of wall down a side hallway which apparently led to an exit and another wall of lockers similar to the ones they had left their bags in earlier. There was no one down the hallway, so she dragged Harry to investigate. The booth was decorated with pictures of Muggle couples and featured the words _Make a Memory, Photo Capture_. There was a small slot on the side and a curtain where you could go into the booth.

"I've seen these before," Harry said after examining the images for a few moments. "You can get Muggle photographs from this machine."

"Oh, let's try it, Harry," Ginny said excitedly. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through the curtain. They sat on the little cramped bench and Harry read the instructions.

"Okay… I guess I have to put Muggle money in this slot," he said, pointing. "Then there will be a blinking light and a bright flash when the picture is taken. It will blink and flash four times and then the strip of photos comes out the slot in the front of the booth."

Harry fished out his pouch and inserted the appropriate amount; the money clanked and rattled into the machine. A green button lit up. He turned to Ginny. "Ready?"

She leaned closer to him so their shoulders were pressed together. "Yup."

Harry pushed the button and the little light began to blink. He tried to smile, and just before the flash Ginny's fingers dug into his ribs, tickling him. By the second flash they were both laughing and he was tickling her in reprisal. "Enough!" he exclaimed before the third flash, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and they both looked at the lens about ready to burst with laughter. He looked in her direction, still chuckling, after the flash and as she turned to look back he pulled her close and kissed her. The fourth flash lit the booth for its fraction of a second and they continued to snog for a good minute more.

They stumbled, giggling, through the curtain, and leaned against the booth, catching their breath. By the time the strip of photos dropped out into the slot they had regained their composure. Ginny retrieved the paper and giggled as she held it out for Harry to see. "Fred and George have got to see this booth, Harry," she said finally. "Just imagine if these were wizard photographs… Now that would be making a memory."

In the midst of his laughter Harry suddenly became aware that there was someone watching them. He wasn't sure exactly how he knew this; he just felt it, like a sudden prick at the back of his neck. His face turned serious, eliciting surprise from Ginny, but before her expression could change he had spun around and was pulling his wand from the front of his sweatshirt.

"What is it, Harry?" Ginny said in alarm.

Harry was poised, ready, his wand outstretched and pointing at nothing but empty hallway. "Who's there?" he called.

In answer, a familiar voice sounded from what otherwise seemed to be thin air. "Don't worry, Harry, it's only me, Remus Lupin."

"Professor Lupin?" Harry exclaimed. "Where are you?" Ginny was now clinging to Harry, confused and a little frightened.

"I'm right here… I'm just invisible," Lupin replied.

"Well, can't you become visible?" Harry looked around momentarily to see that no Muggles were about. "It's only Ginny and I here."

"No, I can't… well, I could, but then I couldn't go invisible again." The look of confusion on Harry's face begged more explanation. "I'm not that good at the Invisibility Charm. Not many wizards are. Making an inanimate object invisible is one thing, but to make a full grown person and his broom invisible for an extended period is quite another," Lupin finished.

"I see," Harry replied. "So… Not to be distrustful… but how am I to confirm your identity if I can only hear your voice?" He continued to hold his wand out in front of himself, toward the sound of the voice.

"That is an excellent question, Harry," Lupin said, sighing heavily. "Perhaps you can consider the fact that I haven't attacked you and that I am speaking to you now as proof enough?"

Harry stared at the sound of Lupin's voice for a moment. There was nothing there which he could see, but he sensed Remus' presence very clearly, and he felt quite sure that he was talking to his former professor, and that there was no danger. Still, he was on guard. Harry searched his brain for a question to ask; something that Lupin, and only Lupin, would be able to answer. "Who made the Marauder's Map?" he blurted out.

"Not a bad question, Harry; the answer is, your father, Sirius, Peter and I. But Wormtail would know the answer to that one as well, so it doesn't quite work," the voice responded with a familiar chuckle. "I promise you, Harry, I am only here as part of the security detail. But you are very right to be on your guard. Do you have another question?"

Harry stood still a moment, focused on the sound of Lupin's voice. After a few moments he lowered his wand, slipping it back into his sweatshirt. "Very well, Professor… I believe you are who you say you are."

"Good, Harry, I volunteered to act as your security straight away." Lupin sounded very happy. "What with public knowledge of my… condition… I just don't get out much, and I'm afraid Headquarters isn't the most cheerful place."

"The Order is back at the old headquarters?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry," Lupin replied. "Your house," he said, placing distinct emphasis on 'your'. "You did tell Dumbledore it was okay… didn't you?"

"Oh… yes, of course," Harry responded indifferently. A stray thought had just occurred to him regarding the house he had said he never wanted to visit again.

"Oh dear… Harry… I'm sorry," Lupin said apologetically. "I didn't mean to bring up… Well… I know it's only been about a week since…"

"It's okay," Ginny interrupted. She stepped up and gently placed her hand on Harry's shoulder. "Isn't it… okay… Harry?"

"Oh… yeah… fine," Harry said, snapping out of his thoughts. "It's nothing."

Harry looked around to see that there were still no Muggles about. "Look… We need to be going; we promised to meet my aunt and Ginny's mum, and our hour is about up. But I'm really glad to know you're here, Professor."

"Harry – Remus… or Moony. I'm not your professor," Lupin said with an unseen smile. "I think I would like it if you called me Moony; that's what your parents called me."

"Okay… Moony," Harry said hesitantly, testing the name as he spoke it. Somehow, it did seem to feel right. "Time for us to go now." He began to turn toward the main part of the shopping centre.

"Right you are," Lupin said. "But I have a question for you, Harry."

Harry turned back around to face the invisible Moony. "What is it?"

"How did you know I was here? You cannot see me, and I wasn't moving at the time so you couldn't have heard me either."

"I don't know, really… I just knew you were there… I sensed you." Harry sounded a little unsure.

"Harry, that's incredible… not many wizards are that sensitive," Lupin praised. "I would like to talk more about this at a more convenient time, if that would be okay?" Harry nodded slowly. Ginny was looking at Harry with wide eyes. "Well, off you go then," Lupin said with a bit of finality. Thereafter he was silent, and if Moony still followed them, Harry didn't hear another sound, or detect another presence.

Harry and Ginny quickly made their way to the spot where they were supposed to meet his aunt and her mother. The women were not there yet, so they took a seat on a bench near the lockers. They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the cheesy music coming softly from speakers in the ceiling.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" Ginny finally asked.

Harry took her hand in his, and looked her in the eyes. "Yes, Ginny, everything's okay. Right now, at this moment, everything is perfect… But it's not going to stay this way, is it?"

Ginny looked at him searchingly, trying to divine his meaning. Did he mean them… or did he mean the war? — She decided that he must mean the war. "No, Harry, I suppose it's not. But whatever comes, whatever you have to face, you will have Ron and Hermione to support you, and me, and my family… We Weasleys aren't the highest regarded family in the wizarding world… but we're fiercely devoted, and loyal, and loving. And Harry… no matter what comes… you are an unofficially adopted Weasley."

Harry leaned in and kissed her on the lips; a gentle, soft kiss full of all the promise of her earlier smiles. He pulled away suddenly. "Eww, I guess that makes me your brother then, doesn't it? That makes this just weird."

"Oh, Harry." Ginny flushed pink, as she slapped him playfully across the shoulder. "If you don't want to kiss me…" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm certainly not forcing you."

They were laughing and joking together when Aunt Petunia and Mrs. Weasley came around the corner. Petunia went directly to the lockers and slid one of the keys in its lock. Harry and Ginny were up off the bench in a moment and at the lockers as well.

They gathered all the bags and headed for the exit nearest where they had left the car. Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Petunia continued to talk the whole way, though Harry felt it seemed a little forced, like neither woman was nearly as comfortable with the other as they had been earlier. They stopped occasionally to look in display windows, but eventually they made it to the car and managed to get all of Harry's and Aunt Petunia's bags in the boot.

When Harry moved to take Mrs. Weasley's bag full of things for Ron, she motioned him away. "Oh no, dear," she said. "You two have things left to do today, so Ginny and I will leave you here."

"Oh, you don't need us to drop you somewhere?" Petunia said, looking at Mrs. Weasley quizzically. "At least we could drop you at the tube station?"

"Oh no, we'll be perfectly fine," Molly countered, smiling at Petunia. "You'd best be going though, so you can get your shopping done and get home."

"Well then…" Petunia said, as she walked up to Mrs. Weasley while digging a parchment envelope from her purse. "I want to thank you for a pleasant day." She held out the envelope to Molly, who took it rather automatically. "Open that when you get home." Molly looked at the envelope and then looked up with wide eyes. "Wait until you are home," Petunia said rather insistently, though she appeared suddenly nervous. After a moment of hesitation she turned and went to get into the car. Molly hastily shoved the envelope into her bag.

Harry closed the boot and looked at Ginny. He stepped over toward her, hesitantly, aware that both Mrs. Weasley and his aunt were watching. He pulled his eyes from hers and looked over at Mrs. Weasley. "Well, I guess this is goodbye for now, then. Thank you so much for everything."

"Oh, Harry dear, it was our pleasure." Molly smiled with genuine warmth and affection. "You just spend the necessary time with your aunt and uncle and then you come right to us at The Burrow. Ron will be so happy to see you there, and Hermione is coming soon." She looked pointedly at her daughter. "Everyone can't wait until you come to stay… and of course there is so much to do in preparation for the wedding."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry said. He turned back to Ginny, who reached up and took his hand. "I'm so glad you could come today, Ginny."

"Me too, Harry," she said, smiling at him, her light brown eyes sparkling.

"I'll see you soon then?"

"You'd better."

As they pulled away in Uncle Vernon's sedan, the Weasley women were both waving at them.

"I take it she is more than just your best friend's little sister?" Aunt Petunia asked, as they pulled onto the thoroughfare in the direction of Surrey.

Harry couldn't detect any accusation, or even disapproval, in his aunt's voice. "Um…" He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed, not so much by the question, but by who was asking it. "Yes… Ginny is… well, Ginny is my girlfriend." Harry couldn't recall ever saying that out loud before, but now that he'd said it, he rather liked the sound of it.

"Well, she seems nice, and it sounds as though she comes from a nice family…" Petunia began. "For your sort, that is," she added with a sniff. Harry could scarcely believe his ears as he listened to his aunt recount her conversation with Mrs. Weasley, and talk about how the Weasleys seemed like a good, solid, hardworking family, even if they did have the misfortune to be so poor. Molly had apparently told his aunt all about her family throughout the course of the day, as well as about the upcoming wedding. Harry finally decided that she would likely return to normal after the calming powder wore off, and didn't give it too much thought.

On their way back to Little Whinging they stopped at a large supermarket and wasted no time gathering the grocery items from Aunt Petunia's list. It was very close to four-thirty in the afternoon by the time they were done and Petunia seemed to be worried that she would be late to pick up Vernon from his office.

When they arrived back at number four, Privet Drive, Harry was quick to carry all the bags into the kitchen. As Aunt Petunia began putting away the groceries, Harry took his new things up to his room. At his aunt's direction he hauled the bags of things for his uncle and cousin upstairs as well and left them on Dudley's bed.

Back in his room, Harry pulled out all the new clothes and set them on the bed. He still could barley believe that Aunt Petunia had paid for all these clothes, as well as things for Ron and Ginny. He knew it was just because of the money - that she felt sort of indebted to him - but he was happy all the same. He gathered all the empty bags and carefully folded them as he knew his aunt would have and brought them down to the kitchen to add to the appropriate shelf in the pantry.

Aunt Petunia had finished putting everything away, so Harry helped her fold up the grocery bags as well.

"Harry," Aunt Petunia said hesitantly. "I take it you enjoyed yourself today?"

Harry nodded in response, not sure how else to respond. In truth he had had a wonderful day, but that was very largely because of Ginny.

"I… I don't know how to say thank you." Petunia cleared her throat, and continued slowly and a bit tentatively, "Harry, I understand that Vernon and I have not been particularly kind to you… I want you to understand that when you arrived on our doorstep, nearly sixteen years ago now, we were not prepared for another child. Dudley was a baby, Vernon had just started his new job at the plant, we had just bought this house and money was very tight. When you were left, Vernon wanted to turn you over to an orphanage, but I insisted we had to keep you. Honestly, given what little I knew, I didn't see that we had a choice. I'll admit that we both felt a certain amount of resentment." She paused then drew in a deep breath. "I don't blame you a bit for every word you said in the bank… and I don't think… well, if our roles were reversed… I don't think I could have done what you did." She was very near tears, it seemed, but Harry couldn't tell if they were tears of regret, or embarrassment. "I want you to know that I'm very… very grateful, Harry, and I know it won't really matter to you… but I do think you have grown into a nice young man… and I know that Lily… your mum would have been proud of you." She pulled a handkerchief out of her kitchen apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

Harry just stared at her. He had no idea what to say. Slowly, he gathered the folded bags from the counter and walked over to the pantry to put them neatly away.

"Harry… I have to go pick up Vernon from work." Again Harry nodded, still not knowing what to say. "When we get back I'll have to prepare dinner… so I'll expect you to stay in your room like you usually do. I don't want you thinking that just because we've been shopping that it means everything has changed?"

Harry hadn't considered any of this… He really hadn't expected anything to change anyway, so once again he merely nodded.

"I'll tell Vernon about the money after dinner. He doesn't know anything about our trip today, and I am not entirely sure how he'll react," she said tersely. "Until then you are to behave as always, staying quiet and out of the way. Tomorrow Vernon and I will have to go and pick up Dudley from the Smeltings bus." She paused and removed her kitchen apron, hanging it on a peg inside the pantry door. "I know you only plan on spending a little over one more week with us…" She gathered her purse and pulled out the car keys. "…But, Harry, I will do what I can to make the rest of your stay more pleasant than usual." Petunia turned to move down the hall toward the front door, but then turned back around as she reached the doorway. "I gather from some of the things that Mrs. Weasley said that you will be facing great dangers in the future… Harry, I don't pretend to understand… but… but I do want to wish you well."

Harry was completely confused by all of this; it was unsettling to have his aunt treating him this way… as… as though she cared. All his childhood he had wanted her to care, and to treat him with even a fraction of the affection she showed her own son. Now the words and sentiment were so out of place it just didn't feel as though it could be real.

Aunt Petunia turned and left the house. In a bit of a daze, Harry ascended the steps and closed himself in the littlest room in the house at number four, Privet Drive. He plopped himself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. This was the only place in the house were he felt as though he belonged… well, this and the cupboard under the stairs.

After a minute he sat up. He looked over at Hedwig's cage, where she was snoozing soundly. He quietly opened the cage door and filled her cup with fresh new treats from the bag he had purchased that morning. He thought to try and clean the cage, but decided to wait until she woke up and went out for an evening hunt.

Harry went to the loose floorboard and quickly retrieved the Dumbledore Chocolate Frog base and got a card from his trunk. Harry set the card in its base and waited impatiently for Dumbledore to appear. Harry so wanted to tell him all about the events of the day. There was so much to tell, and even more ideas to discuss.

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**NEXT**  
Chapter Eight  
**Alert and Alive**


	9. Alert and Alive

Chapter Eight  
**Alert and Alive**

The sun beamed through the canopy above — a million points of light, filtered through layers of green, streaming down to the rich, red jungle soil — constantly shifting with the dripping leaves of the rain-drenched trees.

There was an air of anticipation in the village this morning that Draco could not quite make sense of. There was a lot of activity at the various huts, and a lot of movement between them, children carrying baskets, mostly. Everyone seemed busy, and no one appeared to have gone off swimming, gathering or fishing, or even sent the children off to play, which seemed to have been the norm on previous days. Instead, many of the villagers appeared to be cleaning and decorating their huts – hanging out elaborate, colorful woven banners, and straightening the small gardens that many kept between their huts and the main village pathway. He wanted to ask Titchi about it, but she had not been to visit him yet today. Neither had Nuncha, which was rather unusual, as the little girl seemed particularly curious about Draco, and she would come by and watch him even when he was sleeping.

By Draco's calculations, he had now been among these very unusual people for twelve days. If he was correct, that made it a Tuesday. He felt compelled to try and keep track of the days. He had taken to scratching a notch for each day in the center pole of his hut, and he had asked Titchi to recount the days he had slept through after his arrival. He felt it would help him recover and maintain his judgment if he accounted at least for the passage of time.

He lay on the grass mats of his hut, not moving as a concession to the pain of his horrible sunburn. The first time he had been out in the sun for a short length of time, he had gotten a burn on his shoulders. Titchi had come to his hut with a potion, a thick, viscous, green, slimy concoction that she had rubbed into his shoulders, banishing the heat and pain immediately.

He was slowly becoming tan; his complexion was already a richer woody color, rather than the pale pink flesh that was his norm. Each time he burned he was healing a little darker, but he suspected he would always be fair, especially compared to the deep dark tones of his hosts.

This time, however, he was really burned. He had spent a good portion of the previous day swimming in the pools at the waterfalls because the cool water was soothing to the lingering soreness in his muscles. He was paying for it now, though, as he was burned from his head to his ankles. All along his back, the flesh was an angry red. His face, arms, shoulders, even his legs were burned. He lay on his belly trying not to move, his skin feeling tight and burning hot, a condition highly aggravated by the still healing scars of Voldemort's lash. He hoped that Titchi would come looking for him and possibly think to bring more of that potion goop that would ease his pain.

Draco found himself thinking longingly of Madam Pomfrey, and the infirmary at Hogwarts. There, he would have complained loudly and the school Healer would have been able to cure all of his wounds in a matter of minutes… perhaps hours at worst. He also would have had Crabbe and Goyle to berate and belittle as they sucked up to him, seeking his favor and guidance. They really were quite idiotic, but they had been _his_ idiots, there to do his bidding and provide a constant distraction.

Somehow, Draco didn't feel like making a fuss. Yes, he was in pain, but it was nothing to the memory of one moment in the grip of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse, or the lingering memory of each lash of Voldemort's whips, contained in the scars upon his back and sides. Draco knew that berating his sycophantic 'friends' just wouldn't make that pain go away.

He lay there with his face turned toward the village; he was still trying to figure this place out. He felt completely the outsider in a place where nothing made sense to him. He had spent a considerable amount of time trying to tell the wizards from the Muggles here. He had been watching for days; whenever he was awake long enough. At first he'd thought that Titchi and the Healer were the only witches, but then he started to notice the wands; not like those he was used to, hewn from hardwoods into straight, sleek, polished perfection, but smaller, thicker, stubbier bits of wood, more like sections of branch cut directly from the tree with the bark still intact. And some villagers seemed to use stones instead of wands, like Titchi's shard of polished amber.

He would see things; the spontaneous lighting of fires, the instantaneous ripening of fruit, the levitation of small objects, and other small acts of magic performed throughout the tribe. Then there were the familiars; animals that seemed inexplicably tied to individual tribe members. There was a squirrel monkey that was always near a young boy named Chunt'ea, a toucan that lived with an old man named Hautúmé, and then there was Kut'chem, Titchi's scarlet macaw.

He wanted to ask about who was whom – were there Muggles and half-bloods? Who were the pure-bloods, the Squibs, the Muggle-borns? He was certain that Titchi must be a pure-blood… she had said she was the daughter of the Shaman, so it made sense that she must be from a pure family. He told himself that they must have known that he was a pure-blood also; he figured that it showed somehow, and after all, they were treating him so well. But then, it didn't seem to matter to these people; at least, he couldn't see any clear segregation, and all the members of the tribe seemed to laugh and talk and interact with one another with no discernable hierarchy or acts of deference. He found it very confusing… how was he to know who to befriend, who to ignore, and most importantly, who to avoid? He decided that Titchi would probably bring it up after he was fully healed from his wounds and his sunburn… when he was stronger.

Draco moved his arms to his sides and tried to push himself up. His flesh tightened, feeling as though it would tear if he tried to move, but he grimaced hard and forced himself up and onto a low stool, which was really nothing more than a section of log from a fallen tree. He sat very still, as each movement aggravated his sunburn. At least now someone would see that he was not sleeping, and, as had happened every other morning, his breakfast would be brought to him.

After a few minutes, someone did in fact bring him something to eat. One of the many girls of the village came, giggling, bearing food on a broad leaf in a small woven platter.

The food was not at all bad, in Draco's opinion; freshly roasted coffee, tropical fruits and a type of fried bread, sweetened with raw cane sugar, nuts and plantains. There were also fresh fish and sweet potatoes. It was not exactly the fare he was used to in England, but it was not limited to a few simple staples either.

In the short time he had been here, he had eaten several types of fish and meats, an enormous variety of fruits, nuts and berries, as well as greens, tomatoes, carrots, sweet potatoes – and these people seemed to use several different types of spices, including different chilies and peppers. He had seen that they cultivated large gardens and groves of fruit trees and kept chickens. He also suspected that they kept other animals somewhere outside the direct confines of the village; goats, maybe sheep, perhaps even cattle.

These people truly didn't conform to anything he knew. They simply weren't civilized by any standard he had been taught… And yet, they seemed particularly civilized to him, as they were constantly friendly, quick to laugh, welcoming, affectionate and caring with one another. They had taken him and his mother in and asked almost no questions… so far. Draco couldn't make it all fit together in his mind. Because he couldn't seem to understand it, he decided to try to merely accept it.

The giggling girl retreated almost immediately, leaving the food at the top of the steps. Draco groaned at the prospect of having to move the few feet to retrieve his meal. He wasn't sure he was quite that hungry.

Moments later Titchi arrived, gathering the platter as she came up the steps. She crossed to Draco, silently handing him the food, and circled around him to examine his sunburn. "So red, Dracho… Why do you stay in the sun so long when you know that it burns you?" she said, her tone not at all accusing.

"I… I forgot that the sun could burn me through the water," he said through mouthfuls of sweet bread. "In England, where I am from, the sun is not so hot all the time."

Titchi smiled at him, the way an adult smiles at a child who has just asserted something fantastical as fact. "Dracho, the sun is always hot, how can it be less hot in another place?"

Draco was getting used to these responses. He felt he could explain it given a little time, but she would just giggle at him through the explanation, so he didn't care to bother. "It just is," he insisted.

Kut'chem swooped in suddenly and landed on one of the cross braces of the open ceiling of the hut. Kut'chem was a rather large parrot, a scarlet macaw, brilliantly red plumed over most of his body with wings that transitioned to a bright yellow at the middle and deep blue-green to their tips. He squawked loudly and said, quite clearly, "Good morning, Dracho, good morning Titchi", then squawked again.

"Good morning, Kut'chem," Titchi replied, smiling brightly. The Malfoys owned a beautiful, majestic eagle owl back in England, but it never swept in and greeted them by name. Draco was still getting used to that. He nodded at the bird, but said nothing.

Kut'chem's head bobbed up and down at the neck and he was making twittering, light squawks, to which Titchi seemed to be listening intently. Draco concentrated on eating a bit more of the fruit from his platter. Finally Titchi turned back to him. "Kut'chem says that Mistress Puntáne has finished preparing your treatment."

"My treatment?" Draco looked up inquisitively.

"Yes… for your skin burn," Titchi answered.

"Oh… My sunburn, you mean?" He smiled, causing his burned face to tighten painfully. It was occurring to him that he smiled at Titchi quite a lot, and he couldn't explain why. He supposed it was because she was still the only person in the village that he could talk to. But, it was occurring to him that smiling actually felt good somehow, so he tried not to think about that too much either.

They talked a little about the village as Draco ate. He asked what it was that the whole village seemed to be preparing for.

"It is the night of monthly celebration that we prepare for," Titchi explained as Draco finished his breakfast, wincing frequently with each painful movement. "Once each month, the shepherds return from the mountains with the animals that have been chosen to be shared among the people. Different boys will be chosen to go shepherding for the next month. Those who return will join the hunting and fishing parties. We will have a great feast, and there will be two bondings this night." Titchi seemed to become more excited as she spoke. "My father returns this night to perform these bondings." She hesitated then, looking concernedly at Draco. "And he will examine your mother as well."

They had not talked very much about Narcissa over the past several days. She still lay in a coma in the Healer's… Mistress Puntáne's hut. Many things had been tried, but nothing had had an effect. She seemed to be sleeping. Mistress Puntáne had erased all outward signs of wounds, and Narcissa seemed comfortable… but she would not wake up. The villagers were all very concerned about her and the practice of leaving offerings of food and flowers – even small caged animals – at the Healer's door had begun right after Draco woke up that first time.

Draco had visited her every day and spent hours telling his mother about this strange place they had come to, and about the things he saw. He also explained what had transpired at Hogwarts, lamenting that he had done all that Voldemort had asked of him, but somehow couldn't actually kill Dumbledore. He apologized over and over for letting the family down and bringing them to this ruin. But, he also had begun expressing his hatred of the Dark Lord for his cruelty and torturous treatment. Draco was extremely conflicted and often wept openly at Narcissa's bedside, wishing she would wake. He wanted desperately to talk to his mother. She was the only person who had always treated him with gentleness and kindness, and he wanted to tell her that she meant safety and comfort to him. He was determined, now, to recover his strength and thereafter, show no further vulnerability to anyone else — to hide these emotions, which he had been taught to regard as weakness.

"I am sure if there is anything to be done… My father can do it," Titchi said warmly as she reached forward and rested her hand gently on Draco's arm. The soft touch hurt his burned flesh, but there was comfort in it as well, and he didn't flinch.

Draco looked up from his food at Titchi, his saddened, pale gray eyes meeting her concerned, endlessly deep, dark ones. He was trying hard to mask his emotions. He said a bit dryly, "Thank you… I'm sure he will help."

A few minutes later, Titchi was leading him, painful step by painful step, toward the Healer's hut. He started very slowly, grimacing at every move, but as villagers began to gather, he choked down his expressions of pain, and forced himself to quicken his pace, acting as though he felt nothing.

As they approached Mistress Puntáne's hut, Draco smelled a lingering sweetness in the air and he saw what looked like a squared tub, large enough to be a deep bathtub, hewn from a single stone. It was set on four squared corner stones and a fire burned beneath. Something was bubbling inside it, like thick tar popping as air escaped its surface. The Healer was there on a stone step leading to the tub, casting what looked like deep orange and purple orchid pedals into the tub.

Mistress Puntáne, in stark contrast to Titchi, looked old and deeply weathered; her hair was bushy and white and braided down her back, nearly reaching the ground. She wore a colorful shawl that appeared to be woven of soft wool, and covered her down to her gnarled knees. On her feet she wore leather sandals, and around her neck a long necklace of stone beads, bits of carved wood and bone, the talons of various birds, and the paws of several animals. She leaned frequently on a staff that she carried, which was carved smoothly from a brilliant orange wood and ended in a dark, bulbous burl. Her face was round and broad and appeared as hard as the bark of an oak tree, but when she smiled, an infectious kindness crept across it that was wont to make you smile or even laugh in return.

When she saw them approaching, she started talking very fast and beckoning Draco forward. He could not understand her, but caught the mispronunciation of his name that he was rapidly becoming used to: "Dracho… Dracho."

Titchi directed Draco to the stone stoop and he stepped up so that he could see into the tub. It was nearly three quarters full with boiling liquid mud from the rich red soil. All throughout there appeared to be various flower petals, swirls of some sort of clear plant oils, and green leaves. Draco would have snarled at the idea of climbing into this tub, except that the smell of it was wonderful – earthy and floral, with rich accents of vanilla and citrus.

Mistress Puntáne pointed the burl end of her staff at the fire and it flashed a brilliant blue before going completely out with an implosive pop. The bubbling mud became still at once and Draco could feel that all the heat was suddenly gone. "Get in," Titchi said, as Draco stood staring at the now still surface.

He didn't say anything, but leaned on the edge of the stone tub and carefully began to lift one leg toward the edge. "Take your clothes off first?" Titchi said suddenly.

Draco turned abruptly to face her, instantly regretting the sudden movement that burned through his skin. "What?" he exclaimed.

"Your shorts," Titchi said, pointing to the tattered remains of Draco's cut-off school trousers, which were the only clothes he had been wearing since waking up in his boxers. "Mistress Puntáne says you should not wear anything in the tub, so that the mud contacts all of your skin."

If Draco's face hadn't been burned pink already, it would have been obvious how embarrassed he was. After all, nearly a quarter of the tribe was standing there watching him, and it seemed that they were mostly women and girls.

"What is the matter with you?" Titchi said matter-of-factly as she stepped closer. "Give me those, and get into the tub. It is time we found you something better to wear anyway."

Draco swallowed hard and turned around so that his back was facing Titchi and the rest of the crowd watching him. It was clear to him that these people knew no sense of shame or embarrassment about their bodies, but seventeen years of English aristocratic propriety was difficult to overcome in twelve days. He dropped his pants and boxers, stepping out of them, and quickly, despite the pain, hopped into the cool, mud-filled tub.

As he sank into the tub to his neck and stretched out, the burning pain in his flesh dissipated almost immediately. "Oh, this is wonderful," he breathed with a sigh of relief.

The Healer came up to the side of the tub and, chattering away, began to scoop up mud onto his face. Draco turned to Titchi.

"She wants you to cover your entire body. She says you must be completely coated," Titchi explained. Draco nodded. Mistress Puntáne got down from the edge of the tub, picked up a stick and jabbed it upright into the ground. She drew a line straight away from the stick with the end of her staff and pointed at it, saying something in a very commanding tone of voice.

"She says when the stick's shadow meets this line, you can get out and go to the river to bathe. Until then, you must stay in the tub, and cover yourself completely," Titchi said with a slight giggle.

The Healer then turned and walked purposefully away toward the center of the village. The crowd turned away with her, as there seemed to be nothing left to see, and in minutes only Draco and Titchi were left.

If Draco looked uncomfortable, that was certainly not what he was feeling. The mud was thick and cool and felt wonderful against his skin. He took a deep breath and submerged himself, coating his face and hair and ears. He popped his head back up and opened his mouth to breath. The feel of it was enough that he didn't care what he looked like. "How long do I have to stay here?" he asked, leaving his eyes closed tight and covered in mud.

"Until the shadow reaches the line," Titchi repeated.

"No, in minutes," he said. "Can you tell me how long in minutes?"

"I do not know 'minutes'," Titchi said, sounding suddenly serious. "I only know to watch the shadow."

Draco felt a momentary swell of irritation, but reminded himself that he was in a strange place, and that he really didn't want to be mad at Titchi. "Well then, I suppose I shall have to teach you… once I'm out of here, that is." He smiled, again feeling the odd sensation that he felt whenever he caught himself doing so. He was glad that the thick mud was masking the expression.

"I would like to learn, Dracho," Titchi said. "You will teach me about minutes?" She paused. "You will teach me about where you come from?"

Draco turned his head and opened his eyes to see her. She had stepped close to the side of the tub and her face was no more that a couple of feet from his. She was looking at him intently, her face gentle and serene – her dark eyes wide and curious.

"Sure," he said finally. "I'll tell you all about where I come from."

Their eyes locked and he felt himself curiously drawn toward her. She was so unlike the girls at Hogwarts… and Draco realized with absolute clarity that he found her incredibly beautiful.

"I would like that," she whispered. After a long pause, she shook her head, as though ridding herself of a feeling, or being drawn back to attention from a daydream. "I have to go help Nuncha," she said suddenly. "I will come back to get you when it is time to get out." She started backing away. "We are preparing chocolate for tonight. Nuncha loves chocolate." She turned and bounded away toward the central huts.

_Chocolate?_ Draco thought. "Where on Earth am I?" he said to himself, with curious exasperation.

"You cannot go back to England… at least not for a while." The words slithered from the Dark Lord's thin, pale lips.

Severus Snape looked up slowly through the bedraggled strands of greasy hair that cascaded over his face in disarray. "No, Lord, I cannot," he said slowly, the hoarse words raking his parched throat. He was sat at the end of a long, elaborate dining table in a straight-backed chair, flanked by two burly Death Eaters he did not recognize.

The table was laden with a feast – cooked fowl, meats and minced pies, roast vegetables, fruits, breads, and tureens of savory sauces. The smells were torture to Snape, who had just spent the last twelve days in a dark cell of Voldemort's dungeon. In that time he had been given only two meals, each consisting of mealy bread and a large tankard of stale water. He had had nothing to eat in the last four days and no plate was set before him now.

The Dark Lord sat at the opposite end of the table, eating gluttonously – sucking at cherry tomatoes and tearing roast fowl directly from its greasy bones with his slender, pale fingers.

"Severus, I have forgiven you your treachery." The words were twisted, delivered through mouthfuls of food, making the Dark Lord look like a foul, feeding animal as he ate without aid of utensils. "I understand that you were attempting to protect your position by entering into the Unbreakable Vow, but I would rather you had come to me with Narcissa's pleadings. I have – and would have – dealt with her as she deserved."

Snape assumed that meant that Narcissa and, probably, Draco, were now dead. He showed no hint of regret at the statement but continued to stare at the Dark Lord.

"Your actions have cost me my greatest insights into the workings of Hogwarts… though, now that Dumbledore is gone, I suppose it no longer matters."

"Yes, Master," Snape uttered with resignation.

"It is very fortunate that you have, for so long, been of such value to me, Severus. My ire is usually fatal, and you've vexed me terribly." Voldemort looked up from his meal, his red eyes burning into Snape's. "You have been one of my most able servants. Time after time you have thought out your actions in such a way that they protected my interests and preserved your position in my service." Voldemort took up his food again and continued eating in his unpleasant manner. "I should not have been surprised that you would finally get caught in your own carefully woven web of deceptions. Many of my Death Eaters have doubted you since before my return." A hollow crack echoed through the broad dining room as the Dark Lord wrenched a game hen thigh from its carcass, and tore the flesh away with his sharply pointed teeth, his thin lips smacking sickeningly.

"I have served you, Lord, to the utmost of my ability." Snape spoke into his lap, his voice weak. "It is my desire to continue to serve you."

Voldemort took up a cloth napkin from the table, next to his unused silver, and carelessly wiped his greasy fingers and chin. He pushed back his chair and stood, tossing his napkin down and grabbing his crystal goblet of wine. "That is very good, Severus… very good… because I have an assignment for you."

Voldemort stepped to the side of the table and began walking in Snape's direction. As he moved, he raised his goblet and drained the wine, carelessly allowing it to drip down his chin and onto his chest. He drew his robe sleeve across his face casually and let escape a satisfied belch.

Snape looked up at his approaching master, his eyes darkening with sinister pleasure. "Will you finally allow me, Master, to dispose of the Potter whelp?" His voice was dry and rasping.

"Ah… dear Severus… your hatred of the father extends so easily to the son." Voldemort snatched up a crystal decanter of water as he continued to move slowly toward Snape. "No, Severus… without Dumbledore, the boy is inconsequential; he has not learned nearly enough to defeat me, and he is better used now to fill the wizards of England with false hope of salvation." He set his crystal goblet on the table before Snape. "I have another task in mind for you."

Snape focused on the empty goblet before him, Voldemort's greasy fingerprints marring the perfection of its finely cut body, and his lip prints dripping residue of his meal into the puddle of dark wine still left within it. Voldemort filled the goblet with water.

"You must be thirsty, Severus," the Dark Lord said, his voice sadistically calm. "Drink."

Snape jerked his weak arm up onto the table and reached out for the goblet. His fingers closed firmly around the stem of the glass. He slid the goblet toward himself on the table and quickly raised it to his lips, draining it completely, and setting it roughly back down on the table.

The Dark Lord chuckled darkly. He drew his wand from within the sleeve of his robe and with a flick of his wrist, a full place setting appeared before Snape. With a broad, slow wave, all the dishes and platters of food slid down the length of the table to fill the end around Snape's plate. "Eat, Severus… satiate your hunger, and slake your thirst." The open bottle of wine jumped up from the table and filled the fresh goblet before Snape. "When you are done, you will be shown to your quarters, where you may bathe and refresh yourself. When you're quite yourself again, I will give you your instructions. I am going to honor you with an opportunity to lead directly. No more slinking in the background, undercover."

"Yes, Lord," Snape rasped out, the words laced with hunger.

Without a word, Voldemort stepped around Snape's chair and, with the two Death Eaters in tow, left the chamber through a large wooden double door.

As the door closed with a precise thud, Snape tore the whole leg and thigh from the nearest game hen and brought it directly to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the roast flesh desperately.

_The night was cool and damp from the light fog that rolled off the lake and enveloped Hogwarts Castle. Even high on the Astronomy Tower, a swirling mist hung in the air, illuminated eerily by the sickly, cold green glow of the Dark Mark, afloat in the sky above._

"I've got a job to do," Draco said, uncomfortably aware of the imminence of the task imparted to him by the Dark Lord.

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," said Dumbledore softly.

Sounds of the fight below drifted up the stone staircase; reminding Draco that he didn't have a great deal of time. He stared at Dumbledore, disarmed and unsteady before him. Somehow, even in the face of defeat, this man was exasperatingly calm.

Dumbledore smiled. "Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

"How do you know?" Draco retorted. The words sounded a bit childish to him even as he said them. "You don't know what I'm capable of." His voice became harder, more forceful. "You don't know what I've done!"

"Oh yes, I do," said Dumbledore mildly. "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts… So feeble, to be honest, that I wondered whether your heart has been really in it."

A sharp movement against the wall, near the staircase door, caught Draco's attention and he turned quickly to see Harry Potter sweeping away his Invisibility Cloak, and stepping forward.

"Draco… Stop this at once," Harry ordered, continuing to move closer.

Even as Harry spoke, he smiled that careless, aggravatingly kind smile of his. The one that made Draco find him so irritating.

"Potter." Draco spat the name. "Right place at the right time as usual, I see."

"Malfoy," Harry said with urgent surety, "you're making a huge mistake."

"Am I?" Draco responded automatically. "And you, the famous Harry Potter, are going to steer me right?"

"I can only make you this offer, Draco…" Harry was stepping forward, raising his hand, but not clutching his wand; instead offering it in friendship. "Join us… Help us defeat Voldemort and his dark forces, before it's too late."

Draco's mouth went dry. He stared into Harry's determined eyes. How could Harry Potter, of all people – whom he had chided, teased and insulted for as long as they had known one another – offer him a chance at redemption?

Draco didn't know what to do.

Wisps of swirling fog surrounded him, suddenly engulfing him in cool dampness, and in the distance he heard his name being called. "Draco… Draco… Dracho…"

Draco woke with a start, his eyes snapping open against the stiffening mask of mud covering his face.

"Dracho… Dracho, you've been sleeping." The voice was Titchi's and its lyrical tones were laced with concern.

"Yes… yes, I fell asleep… I was… dreaming," Draco stammered.

"It is time to get out now, Dracho." She smiled.

"Oh… yeah," Draco said, as he moved tentatively; pushing himself up against the weight of the smooth, cool mud. He shook the remnants of the dream from his mind, coming fully awake.

Titchi led him down from the tub and they made their way to the waterfalls. The thick mud clung to Draco's torso and legs, encasing him in several centimeters of thick, pasty coating. The weight made his movements sluggish, but there was no pain at all in his skin, or muscles. Only his scars itched, a persistent tingle that he suspected would never leave him. The mud oozed off of him as he moved, leaving a trail in his wake. In any other circumstances, he would have been severely embarrassed, but no one gave them a second look as they walked past the central stone fire pit and down the path to the water.

Once they arrived, Draco wasted no time, diving into the clear water and leaving a plume of red mud. Other swimmers dotted around the rocks watched him with curiosity, the cloud of mud drifting with the river as he rubbed his body clean beneath the surface.

After a few minutes, Draco was mud-free and felt wonderfully refreshed. He swam back toward the shore and stood in the waist-high water, his skin bronzed and shimmering in the sun. He looked down at his arms, appreciating his new skin color.

Never in his life had he been allowed out in the sun enough to get a decent tan, and now he was the deep, rich color of the skin of an almond. He couldn't help but admire himself as he looked at his reflection in the water's surface. His bright hair, slick and wet, now framed and contrasted his face. He moved to the edge of the water, near the protection of the shaded stones, where he could see his reflection better.

Draco examined his face. The yellow "X" still crossed his nose but it seemed somewhat lessened against his new complexion. He rubbed his pointed chin, realizing suddenly that he had not shaved at all since he had come to this place, and while there were barely enough whiskers to constitute more than a nuisance, he was far from his usual groomed and carefully presented self. He slapped at the surface of the water, suddenly angry at his own reflection. The momentary emotion passed just as suddenly as it had overtaken him. _What can it possibly matter?_ he thought. What use is vanity in this place?

Confused, unaddressed thoughts resonated in Draco's head as he stood there, the surface slowly settling. He was suddenly aware of Titchi's reflection in the water. He looked up to see her standing on the boulder. The boulder, he recalled, where they had first met. She was holding something, a length of tanned leather as smooth and soft as fabric. She smiled at him. "Dracho… you have troubled thoughts?" she asked, her voice lowering with concern.

"Oh… no… not really," he replied haltingly. "What have you got there?" he asked, changing the subject.

"This is for you, Dracho," Titchi said proudly. "It is for you to wear. I made it for you." She stretched out her arms toward him, offering the supple leather.

Draco realized the leather, along with a second strip, was a sort of loincloth, typical of the men of the tribe. He took it from her and was amazed at how soft it was in his hands. He was aware that he was naked in the water, but as that was how the tribe members usually swam, he swallowed down his residual embarrassment and climbed up onto the rocks to put on the simple, spare garment.

Once Titchi was satisfied that it was a good fit, they walked back toward the huts together.

Draco felt quite himself again… physically, at least. He was amazed at how invigorating the skin treatment was. He was aware of the constant pinprick pain in the scars all across his back, but that was a minor nuisance, one he hoped he would learn to ignore.

The residual pain in his limbs was finally and completely gone and he felt full of energy. Rather than wanting to go back to his hut and lie down – as he had done on each previous day he'd been awake – he wanted to do something more – anything but sleep. "I feel great," he said out loud to Titchi.

"That is wonderful, Dracho," she replied, smiling at him. "And you look like you are becoming one of us… well, except for your hair." She reached out and brushed a strand away from his face. "Nuncha will be so happy to see its color is not changed, she loves your hair."

Draco couldn't help smiling back at her, though it registered once more in his head how strange it was for him to genuinely smile at anyone. With Titchi, he had no history, no reputation to protect, no family legacy to uphold. For the first time in his life, he was happy to be free of it.

"So, what do we do today?" he asked. "I absolutely do _not_ want to sleep the day away."

"I am so glad to see you feeling better, Dracho," Titchi said genuinely. "But we must prepare for tonight's celebration. Chunt'ea has been asked to go with some boys to catch more fish for this evening. I will ask if you can go fishing with them."

Draco felt a momentary twinge of disappointment at the suggestion, but smiled and tried not to let it show.

Once back at the village, Titchi went off to find Chunt'ea, and Nuncha dragged Draco into a large hut to see all the cooking and preparation that was going on. Nuncha led him to a large clay pot that was stirring itself with a long, flat wooden spoon. It smelled deliciously of dark chocolate. The many women in the hut didn't seem to be concerned by his presence; some looked up at him, and smiled, but mostly they kept at their various tasks. Nuncha picked up what looked like a length of grass reed about eight or ten inches long. She dipped it into the pot and pulled it out, the end coated in thick, glossy chocolate. She popped it into her mouth and sucked away the chocolate, smiling. Then she dipped it again and pushed it toward Draco. He opened his mouth automatically and instantly was rewarded with the sweet, delicate flavor of rich bittersweet chocolate. His eyes widened in wonder at the delicious taste and he smiled widely at Nuncha, which was obviously the reward she wanted.

A woman approached them. She was a handsome woman, perhaps in her mid thirties or early forties. She mussed Nuncha's hair affectionately and spoke kind but gently scolding words at the little girl. Draco imagined that she said something like "Don't eat it all before the feast." Nuncha smiled at the woman, and he wondered if this was Nuncha's mother – Titchi's mother, too. Draco smiled politely at the woman, unaware of how he should act. He started to bow, from ingrained habit, but she regarded him neutrally, without any indication of feeling. She took the stick away from Nuncha and dipped it into the pot, tasting the delightful contents herself. She moved quickly to a nearby table and returned with a clay vessel and a mound of raw crystallized sugar. She dumped the sugar into the pot and poured what appeared to be milk from the vessel into the chocolate as well. She smiled again at Nuncha and said something more that Draco could not understand, before stepping away to rejoin the other women in a central circle. They were obviously preparing several different things at a low circular table, and Draco, now aware of the constant chatter, imagined they were also gossiping wildly, sharing stories of family.

Nuncha looked conspiratorially at the back of the woman Draco now suspected to be her mother, before dipping the stick again and sucking away more chocolate with a deep grin and a satisfied sigh. She immersed it once more and gave it to Draco, who savored the delicious flavor, now subtly more balanced for the added ingredients. He rewarded Nuncha with another delighted smile.

"You like chocolate, Dracho?" Titchi's voice came from behind him. He turned, still withdrawing the sample stick from between his lips. He smiled. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do… and this is very good." Titchi seemed to blush a little as she smiled, and Draco noticed the boy standing behind her.

Chunt'ea was one of the first members of the tribe that Draco had noticed and asked about. After all, with his squirrel monkey always on his shoulder, or trailing nearby, he did sort of stand out. Chunt'ea was thirteen years old, or thirteen flood rains, as Titchi had said; Draco had assumed that was what marked years here. Chunt'ea was a full head shorter than Draco and was thin and wiry, not at all unlike his monkey companion, Draco thought with a smile.

"The boys have agreed to take you with them, and teach you to fish," Titchi explained. Draco looked to where she indicated and realized that another half dozen boys were there, waiting.

Draco felt a bit of prideful resentment rise at the idea that he would have to be taught to fish by a bunch of thirteen-year-olds, but he swallowed the notion down and smiled politely. _I have to quit reacting automatically,_ he thought to himself; he had no status or station to protect here, so his reflexive thoughts of superiority were a hindrance, not a help.

Titchi brought Draco out to the group of boys and then un-slung her amber shard wand and performed the Understanding enchantment on both Draco and Chunt'ea. Suddenly, Draco had another person he could talk to, but he felt an odd sort of disappointment rather than joy, at the notion that he would no longer have the excuse to spend all his time with Titchi.

The boys led him along the river at a jog. They were amazingly light on their feet and quiet as they moved excitedly toward their destination. Draco had been given a long, thin spear with a many-needled head, and a woven basket, which was slung over his shoulder, bouncing against him with each step. By the time they stopped, Draco was quite out of breath, a fact that the boys seemed to feel was very amusing, but their laughter and chiding seemed to be all good-natured, so Draco let it pass, and in fact laughed a bit himself, accepting the teasing, where before, he never would have let it go without a sharp retort.

Chunt'ea patiently explained to Draco how to use the spear and how to aim through the water's surface. After several tries, Draco managed to spear his first fish and really began to catch on. He could see that he was still missing more than hitting, but it was slow, lazy work, mostly waiting for the fish to come by, so he was able to make up for the newness of his skill and fill his basket while the boys enjoyed talking and teasing one another, telling jokes more than watching the river for fish.

Asking through Chunt'ea, the boys seemed to be very curious about where Draco had come from, so he tried to describe England to them, telling them that it was a huge island country full of many people, that it was cooler so the people had to wear much more clothing, like the robes he had arrived in. He tried to describe the difference in the plants and the landscape, the kind of dwellings, and the habits of the people, but while the boys seemed very impressed, he was not at all sure how much they really understood.

The afternoon passed and Draco began to feel quite relaxed with these younger boys. At Hogwarts, he'd have found it quite irritating to spend an afternoon with a bunch of third-years, but while these boys had the excitement and joviality that befitted their youth; it was tempered with a sense of responsibility to their tribe that, in an odd way, Draco felt he understood. They had a tremendous amount of fun, but each eventually managed to take the time to fill their fish-basket. Draco was quite happy to have been able to fill his as well by the time one of the boys suggested they should head back.

Chunt'ea whistled for his monkey companion, who appeared a moment later, laden with several small fruit pods he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying, and quickly descended to take his place on the boy's shoulder.

As they returned to the village at a jog, it occurred to Draco that they had used no magic to help with the fishing. He wondered about it; it would have taken them no time at all to sweep the river with a magical net and catch more fish than the boys had all caught together. If Draco had had his wand, he felt he could easily have accomplished it. But then… they would not have been able to enjoy the time together, away from other ears of the village, joking and laughing, and talking about various girls, as it seemed they had spent a lot of time doing. He wondered if there was some sort of restriction on underage wizards here, as there was in England. He was just beginning to dwell on this when he realized that they had arrived.

They jogged right up to the large hut where all the cooking had been going on and several girls came out to retrieve the boys' baskets. They chattered excitedly at the overflowing baskets and quickly took them away into the hut, leaving the smiling boys filled with a sense of accomplishment. Nuncha had rushed out to take Draco's basket; it was quite a feat for the small girl to carry the large basket, but she chattered animatedly just like the older girls and smiled proudly at Draco. Before she turned away, she said something to Chunt'ea, who nodded.

Chunt'ea led Draco back to the now familiar hut that he had been using. "Titchi and Nuncha have made you more things for tonight," Chunt'ea explained as they stepped up into the hut together. "Nuncha asked me to show you how each garment fits," he continued.

There, laid out across the sleeping mats, was a vest made of the same thin and supple leather of his loincloth, and with it were elaborately beaded leggings and forearm bands, which Chunt'ea quickly explained.

"These are celebration garments; you only wear them for nights like tonight, and then you will keep them safe."

He showed Draco how to lace them up the back of his calf, and under his forearm. The last item was a simple necklace, which consisted of a leather cord and a half dozen simple, bleached white bone beads. Draco tied it around his neck as Chunt'ea explained that this necklace was his display of accomplishment and skill. As he was a newcomer to the tribe, it was only these few bare beads, but tonight, if the women were satisfied with his afternoon catch, he would be awarded a stone bead in the shape of a fish to add to his necklace, and each month he would be awarded new additions to recognize accomplishment.

When Draco was fully dressed in his new attire, Chunt'ea stepped back and nodded approvingly. Even his squirrel monkey seemed to be nodding with appreciation.

"I must go now and get ready myself," Chunt'ea said as he moved around the room. He had drawn a short, stubby wand from a leather scabbard at his waist and was lighting the few lamps in the hut, which were made from some sort of gourd. "There is time now for you to go visit your mother if you like, and I will come get you when it is time for the celebrations to begin."

Draco nodded. "Thank you," he responded… "And thank you for the fishing."

Chunt'ea seemed very pleased; he smiled and nodded before quickly leaving the hut.

Draco made his way along the now familiar footpath toward the Healer's hut to visit his mother. His mind was awhirl with the events of the day. So much for a restriction on underage magic, he thought as he pictured Chunt'ea lighting the lamps in his hut. He looked down at himself as he moved, and marveled at his bronzed skin and colorful, beaded leggings. For a moment he imagined himself standing in the Great Hall dressed as he was, with the many Hogwarts students laughing at him in this colorful attire, but he quickly banished the thought… he was, after all, not at Hogwarts, and this costume was perfectly appropriate to this place and these people, and he was building a new sense of pride in his acceptance here.

He reached the Healer's hut, climbed the wooden stairs and knocked at the doorframe, from which a heavy leather sheet hung. In a moment Mistress Puntáne was there, pulling back the leather drape and beckoning him into the cool hut awash in the pleasant fumes of brewing potions.

Draco nodded to Mistress Puntáne, and spoke. "Thank you for the treatment this morning," he said, motioning to his chest with both hands, pulling open his vest to display his new complexion.

The Healer seemed to understand what he meant and she nodded, smiling. She spoke in acknowledgement, but Draco could not yet understand. She quickly directed him to the back of the hut, where his mother lay behind a gauze curtain.

Narcissa was still, her breathing regular and her face calm as she lay there, but her eyes seemed blank when you pulled back her lids, as Draco had done on several occasions. Draco took a seat on a familiar stool at his mother's side and took her hand in his.

"I'm alive, Mother… I'm right here," he began in hushed tones as he squeezed her unresponsive hand in his. He began telling her about the day, describing his thoughts at each event, and how he was perceiving things differently now, in this strange place, among these people who were so different from them and yet so overwhelmingly friendly, kind, and accepting. He described his new clothes and his new skin tone, the feel of the mud bath, and the fun he had had fishing. Finally he tried to describe the taste of the chocolate, which he knew she would love.

"You need to wake up, Mother," he pleaded softly. "You have to experience this place for yourself. I feel so alert and alive here," he confided. "It's almost as though I've been resurrected after being killed by the Dark Lord." He paused for a long moment and then recalled the dream he had had, the one in which Harry Potter had offered him a chance to join in opposing Voldemort. It came back to him vividly as he described it to his mother.

"I wish that you would wake up and help me understand all of this." For a fleeting instant, Draco thought his mother's fingers had moved against his own - the slightest twitch, barely noticeable… so slight that Draco was not even sure if he had imagined it. He held his breath in hope that it would occur again, but nothing happened.

After a long, still silence, Draco got up from the stool and smiled resignedly down at his mother. "I'll be back again soon, Mother," he said, though there was little hope in his voice. He turned and pushed away the gauze curtain, stepping away from his mother.

The hut was now empty, Mistress Puntáne having slipped away at some point without disturbing him. He crossed the wooden floor and stepped out onto the small porch beyond the leather drape. The sun was setting fast, casting a reddish-gold glow over the village as he sat on the steps of the Healer's hut. The warmth of the air enveloped and comforted him.

He noticed suddenly that there were numerous torches approaching the village from a short way up the main pathway toward the nearby hills and not very distant mountains. He thought he could hear the clopping of hooves, and the sounds of animals, mixed with calls from distinctly human voices. Before he could think much about it, he heard something hit the roof of the hut behind him and he turned to see Chunt'ea's monkey clamoring down the side of the hut toward him. It came right up to him and tugged at his arm as a small child would. At that moment, he heard Chunt'ea calling to him, and spotted him running up the path toward the hut. "Dracho… Dracho… come quickly. The men and animals are arriving. The celebrations are beginning!"

Chunt'ea was very excited, and Draco couldn't help feeling the enthusiasm as well. The monkey hopped up on Draco's shoulder as he came off the step to join the younger boy.

"Come, Dracho… Hurry!"

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**NEXT**  
Chapter Nine  
**Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prächt**


	10. Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prä

Chapter Nine  
**Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prächt**

Ginny awoke Tuesday morning to the smell of sausages wafting up to her bedroom. She contemplated pulling her pillow over her head and trying to go back to sleep, but when the scent of fresh coffee hit her she knew that it was futile. She turned in her bed and looked out the window at the depressingly clear sky. Why did the weather have to be so marvelous when she felt so miserable?

She reached over to her night table and clutched the torn half of a set of Muggle photographs from the shopping center photo booth. The sight of Harry and her giggling together made her heart leap, but just as quickly reminded her of exactly why she was feeling so bad. It had been three days since they had been together at the shopping center and she still hadn't heard anything from him. She wasn't sure if she should feel neglected, or worried – after all, her boyfriend _was_ none-other than the famous Harry Potter.

Then, yesterday, she had received the letter she had been dreading. The letter she knew was inevitable, but had hoped would be forgotten until next term. It too was on her night table. She picked it up and re-read it for perhaps the tenth time.

_Dear Miss Ginevra Weasley,_

As you know, the O.W.L. testing of all Hogwarts' fifth year students was postponed, due to the tragic and untimely death of the Headmaster.

The Ministry has set a special testing schedule to accommodate students during the summer holidays.

You have been scheduled to sit your exams at the Ministry for Magic on July 3rd and 4th. You are to report to the testing rooms of the Wizarding Examinations Authority Offices, level six Ministry of Magic, London, promptly at 8 a.m. each morning of testing.

Testing by subject will follow according to your term schedule at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please be prepared for both written and practical exams at time of testing.

If you have questions, or need transportation assistance to and from the Ministry, please contact this office.

May I personally wish you great success with your examinations.

Sincerely,

Griselda Marchbanks  
WIZARDING EXAMINATIONS AUTHORITY OFFICE  
Ministry of Magic

Ginny set the letter back down on her night table with a frown and swung her legs out of the bed. She stood up, pulled on her pale blue bathrobe, stuffed her feet in her matching fluffy slippers and flopped out the door toward the kitchen.

"Morning, dear — sausage and eggs?" Even in the darkest of times, Ginny's mother never failed to be cheerful in the morning, particularly when serving a meal.

"Just coffee, Mum," Ginny responded blankly. She moved sluggishly toward the percolator on the stove as her mother flicked her wand, summoning a heavy mug from a shelf, which managed to fly beneath the stream of dark liquid as the pot rose up off the stove and tipped itself.

"Thanks," Ginny said with subdued gratitude. She plopped down at the kitchen table where her brother Ron was finishing a plate. Knowing Ron, it was neither his first nor his last.

Ginny spooned a heap of sugar into her steaming mug and reached across to nab the cream, which she tipped in until the swirling, tanning liquid danced dangerously at the lip. She leaned in and blew across the surface, then settled her lips to the mug and slurped tentatively, drawing off the first potentially burning swallow of the hot, life-giving liquid from the over-full mug.

"Honestly, you need something more than coffee, dear," Molly's words displayed a concern that went beyond breakfast. "How I ever let you children start drinking that vile liquid, I'll never know – but your father does love his first morning cup." Molly continued talking as she loaded more eggs onto Ron's plate. Ron beamed at his mother, but said nothing, as his mouth was too full of food to speak.

With a flick of her wand, the pan of eggs flew back to the stove and an iron skillet swept into her hand. Molly stabbed out a half dozen more sausages onto Ron's plate. She turned to Ginny and speared the last few. A plate full of eggs glided to a halt in front of Ginny just in time to receive the proffered sausage. A few moments later, Molly joined Ginny and Ron at the table with her own plate of food.

"Going to work at the shop again, Ron?" Ginny asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Ron responded after a heavy swallow. He took a big gulp of orange juice, and continued speaking. "Why else d'ya think I'm up so early? Fred and George are expecting a shipment of felt hats today. They've been going crazy keeping up with the demand for protection-charmed clothing, and they were thinking they'd try to make Disillusionment hats with this shipment."

Mrs. Weasley sniffed in apparent disapproval, but neither Ginny nor Ron gave any indication of noticing. The entire family knew that it was all an act; Molly was fiercely proud of the twins' success – in fact, it had been she that had suggested the tag line Fred and George now used with their top-selling line of serious protection and security items: _"If it's a Weasley, it's worth it."_

"Gonna try to study today, Ginny?" Ron asked.

"Yeah… guess I'll try."

He shot her a knowing look as he shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed diligently to a solid swallow. "Don't worry… When Hermione comes back from holiday, she'll make sure you study plenty before you have to sit the tests." He obviously couldn't keep himself from smiling at the mention of Hermione's name. "And… you'll hear from Harry, I'm certain of it."

Ginny blushed very slightly under her mother's attentive gaze. "I'd better," she proclaimed with faux fierceness belying the underlying insecurity of a fifteen-year-old girl anxious to hear from her boyfriend. "Or he's going to be one sorry…" Ginny's words trailed into nothing as she noticed a distant speck in the clear sky outside the kitchen window. It was an owl, certainly… but what owl?

Mrs. Weasley got up from the table and moved to open the kitchen window. "Looks like…" Molly hesitated, waiting a few more wing-beats to bring the animal closer. "…Like a barn owl, from the standard owl post," she said with a hint of chagrin on her daughter's behalf.

Ginny clutched her coffee mug with both hands and looked down into it, trying to hide her disappointed expression.

The barn owl landed heavily on the windowsill and hooted to announce its presence. Mrs. Weasley untied the leather cord and removed the parchments. The owl turned and leapt back into flight.

"Looks like the usual," she said. "Oh." She pulled one of the letters free of the others. "Ron, dear, another from Hermione." Molly moved to hand the thick parchment to Ron.

"I hope she's enjoying her holiday and not spending all her time writing to you," Arthur Weasley said as he stepped into the kitchen carrying his work satchel. He moved directly to the head of the table and pulled out his chair. "What's that – a letter every other day now?" Mr. Weasley sat, adding his habitual, "Morning, children."

"Morning," Ginny responded gloomily.

"Good morning, Arthur." Mrs. Weasley summoned her husband's breakfast and moved to give him a quick kiss.

"No _Prophet_ this morning?" Mr. Weasley asked distractedly as he waved his wand, summoning the sugar and cream from across the table.

"Not yet, dear," Mrs. Weasley responded.

Ginny looked up from her coffee and shook a lazy finger at the open window. "I think there's another owl coming – I expect that'll be your paper, Dad." She looked down at her plate, picked up a fork and began to stab at her eggs.

Mr. Weasley reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a Knut. He got up from the table and moved to the window to pay the approaching bird.

"Um… Ginny?" he said teasingly, "I don't think this one_ is_ the _Prophet_ delivery… It looks like Hedwig… And, she appears to be carrying a rather large parcel."

Ginny was on her feet in an instant, her mother and brother behind her. They all peered out the window at the approaching owl. "That's a huge box she's got there," Ron commented. "Must be better than half her wingspan." He turned to Ginny, grinning. "Told'ya you'd hear from Harry."

They all stepped back from the window to allow the snowy owl to swoop out of the sky and into the room. Mrs. Weasley jerked her wand and the dishes moved aside, clearing a spot on the table. There was a loud thump and a flashing of white wings as the package hit the table and the owl righted itself atop the heavy box. The parcel looked like an oversized, round hatbox wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine. The owl leapt down off the box and stared at them, seemingly considering each in turn.

"Blimey," Ron exclaimed. "That's not Hedwig."

Ginny was beaming. "No… _he_ isn't." She stepped closer, holding her arm out to the bird. "This is the owl from the Emporium! Remember, Mum, I told you I saw another snowy when Harry and I went in to get treats for Hedwig?" The owl trilled happily and hopped off the table onto Ginny's outstretched arm. "Did Harry send you to me?" she asked. In answer, the owl nipped at her cheek affectionately and hooted with satisfied finality.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, understanding, as she continued to watch the beautiful owl with an awed expression. "Harry… he wouldn't have… he didn't? That's too much to spend…"

Ron had crossed to the box and grabbed the tag. He read it aloud: "Eeylops Owl Emporium proudly presents this owl as a gift to Ginny Weasley, from one: Harry Potter. Yeah, he sure did, Mum."

Without asking permission, Ron tore into the brown paper, pulling it away from the round box. In a moment, he had the top off of the box and was pulling from it a beautiful metal cage that was considerably taller than the box itself. Inside the cage were more items, feed and treats, dishes, a booklet on care and feeding and a letter addressed to Ginny in Harry's hand.

Ron opened the cage door and pulled out the things. As soon as he had done so, the owl hopped onto the table and leapt up onto the perch. Ginny moved to pick up the letter. She tore it open hurriedly and began reading silently.

After a minute she looked up at the eager faces of her brother and parents. "He says…" she began, "the owl is an early birthday present. He wanted me to have it now because he thought delivering all the wedding invitations would be a bit much for Errol and Pig." Ginny clutched the letter to her chest and giggled with unsuppressed glee.

She kept on reading silently, moving back toward the window and pulling herself up to sit on the counter. "He's planning to leave the Dursleys' on Sunday the twenty-second and come to stay with us here; he asks if you can make arrangements, Dad? He says as early in the morning as you want is fine with him." Ginny continued to scan the letter, smiling, occasionally laughing, but not sharing the contents. Finally she looked up at her parents rather confusedly. "He says whatever was in his aunt's envelope… You are not to even think about trying to return it, he says it's yours, and that's the end of it."

Both Ron and Ginny were looking at their parents now and Mrs. Weasley glanced guiltily at Arthur. "Mum, Dad, what's he talking about?" Ron asked.

"I remember now," Ginny said. "Right before they went away in that automo-what'sit, Harry's aunt handed you a letter. I didn't even think about it till just now."

"So what is it he's afraid you'll try to return?" Ron blurted out.

Arthur Weasley sighed heavily and left the room; he returned a minute later with two small sheets of parchment; he handed Ron the first. It was a note from Edwin Garron of Gringotts Bank. Ron glanced over it and handed it back to his father.

"Well, what does it say?" Ginny said waving it away as her father moved to hand it to her.

Mr. Weasley, shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat and began to read:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,_

Enclosed is a deposit receipt to your Gringotts vault. I have deposited this money at the express direction of Mrs. Petunia Dursley, aunt of Harry Potter.

I felt you should know that Mr. Potter suggested to his aunt that your family deserved a portion of the account in question, in recognition of the care and concern you have extended to him during the time he has attended Hogwarts School.

As a third party and, I hope, a family friend, and knowing what little I have been witness to regarding Mr. Potter and his aunt, I encourage you to accept this money.

Yours truly,  
Edwin Garron  
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF MUGGLE RELATIONS  
Gringotts Bank, London.

"It's quite a bit, isn't it, Dad?" Ron said knowingly. He did not seem the least bit surprised by this turn of events.

Arthur Weasley leaned forward and handed his son the second slip of paper. Ron glanced down at it and smiled a broad grin. "Of course it is." Ron handed the deposit slip to Ginny who likewise glanced at it and also grinned.

"Two-hundred-fifty-thousand Galleons!" she blurted out. "Merlin's beard!"

"But you see… we can't keep it," Mrs. Weasley said nervously. "We haven't done anything to deserve it. It would be wrong to keep it." She seemed on the verge of tears. Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement with his wife.

"You've got to be kidding!" Ron said, his voice rising a little in aggravation. "You can't give it back. Don't you get it? Don't you know anything about him?"

Ron's parents stared at him, looking slightly offended, but Ron persisted. "Harry would have given you money outright at any moment during the past six years, only you made it clear you didn't want it from him. He would never insult you by offering you one Knut from his Gringotts vault, but this money didn't come from there… and even if he had to suggest it to his aunt, _she's_ the one giving it to you. And I can tell you, that Dursley lot don't deserve it."

There was a thick silence. Not even the newly arrived owl made a sound.

"Harry's been clever about it, son," Mr. Weasley broke the quiet, his voice flat and uncertain, "but we can't deny it's really from him, and I'm just uncomfortable taking such a gift."

"Harry has to know he doesn't need to buy our affection," Mrs. Weasley said between sniffles.

"Come off it, Mum, Harry knows that." Ginny hopped off the counter and crossed toward her mother. "You _do_ deserve the money… because you gave Harry the one thing he didn't have… family, and a place he knows he can call home if he likes. And you let him know you love him… can't you let him do this little thing for you?"

"Two-hundred-fifty-thousand Galleons is no 'little thing'," Mr. Weasley said.

"Not to you, Dad… or you, Mum," Ron said determinedly. "Or to any of us… But to Harry, it is."

Life with the Dursleys had become rather interesting now that they were suddenly rich. It wasn't that they were particularly kind to Harry; in fact, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had seemed to be pretending he just wasn't there. Aunt Petunia, though, had begun talking to him with more frequency – no truly significant conversations, but congenial, and she was seeing that he was well fed, despite the fact that Dudley was now home.

The days blurred into one big Dursley shopping outing, as each morning they seemed to be off somewhere to look at brand new things that they hardly needed. The first thing Uncle Vernon had done was buy himself a new Rolls-Royce, _Silver Spur_, and by mid-week Dudley had gotten… well, new everything.

Harry had been spending most of his time quite happily in his room, meditating, reading the daily issues of the Prophet, talking with the Dumbledore card, and planning for his final departure from Privet Drive. His meditation was coming along very nicely and Harry was finding that he rather looked forward to the mental exercise; it had also had the positive effect of making him feel calm and relaxed a good deal of the time.

In contrast to previous years, the Prophet now seemed to hold Dumbledore in the highest regard. Several articles had appeared, dedicated to chronicling the Headmaster's life and contributions to wizard society. Harry read every one, despite the protestations of the card on his desk.

On Saturday morning, before his aunt and uncle had departed to retrieve Dudley, they called Harry down to an early breakfast. It became immediately apparent that Aunt Petunia had told Uncle Vernon about their activities of the previous day. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and looked about as puffed up as a prize swine before the livestock judging of a regional fair. He informed Harry very matter-of-factly that it was about time he showed them the respect and reward they deserved for feeding and housing him for sixteen long years.

Harry might have lost his temper during his uncle's speech, but instead he had taken a deep breath and reminded himself that he would be leaving soon. His aunt looked highly upset and embarrassed during her husband's lecture, and that at least convinced Harry of her sincerity. Near the end of it, Uncle Vernon had uttered a very stifled "Thank you" that certainly had no thanks contained within it, but Harry imagined it was the best the over-stuffed walrus could manage.

Monday morning, Uncle Vernon was eager to go to work, to "… tell those gits at the office just exactly what they could do with their German takeover." He spent the rest of that day polishing his new car in the drive way, and telling every neighbor that happened by about his early retirement.

Wednesday morning brought Harry his first close encounter with the new owl. It showed up at Harry's window with letters from Ginny and Ron and a confirmation of travel time from Mr. Weasley. The male owl showed an immediate and rather keen interest in Hedwig, leaping onto the bureau and hooting in what Harry thought was a friendly and enthusiastic tone. After a few minutes of sizing one another up, the two birds flew out of the window together and Harry watched them until they disappeared into a distant line of trees.

Harry wrote return letters to both Ron and Ginny. Ginny's letter included a post script that read: _What have you named him? He and Hedwig seem to be getting along very well. I'm sending her along to The Burrow, as I don't think I'll need her for any messages in the next few days. I've told her she can stay there with Errol and Pig, and your new owl. So please, watch after her until I get there._

By lunchtime on Saturday, Harry couldn't believe that the very next morning he would travel to The Burrow and be done with Privet Drive forever. Based on visits from various Estate Agents, it looked like the Dursleys too would be done with Privet Drive very soon as well. Aunt Petunia had confided to Harry that they would not be moving until at least the first of August, and she was hoping for further away from Vernon's sister Marge, rather than closer.

At a quarter past four Saturday afternoon, there was a knock on the Dursleys' front door. Harry, who happened to be down in the kitchen peeling potatoes for his aunt, paid it no mind, as there had been more strange visitors and deliveries to the house in the last few days than he had ever remembered in fifteen years.

Something struck Harry, though, as he heard the grumblings of his uncle in the sitting room — an odd sensation, like a slight warm flush along his temples. His uncle was apparently not expecting anyone either, and he suddenly knew that this caller was here to see him.

Harry hurriedly finished up the last potato as he heard his uncle's heavy footsteps tread toward the front door. He braced himself for an explosion as his uncle confronted some eccentric member of the wizarding community… but none came. He couldn't make out the conversation exactly through the kitchen door, but it sounded congenial enough.

Harry wiped up and dried his hands as his uncle approached the kitchen, and as the door swung open, his uncle's voice bellowed "Boy!"

When Vernon saw that Harry was right there at the sink he lowered his voice considerably. "Boy, there are a couple of men here from a legal firm who say they have business with you?"

Harry shook his head in confusion, but his uncle held the door open wide and two men stepped into the kitchen.

The first was a small, balding man no taller than his uncle with glassy, sky blue eyes behind rectangular spectacles. His hair had once been very blonde but now had hints of gray throughout. He was dressed very neatly in a charcoal-colored, Muggle style suit, and wore a conservative tie. He carried with him a smart-looking, leather brief case.

The other man was much taller and broader and wore a dark suit coat, with black slacks and an open-collared shirt. This man's hair was white, thick and slicked back on his head, though he hardly looked old enough for white hair. His eyes were also blue, but not as light and brilliant as the first man's. He was holding what looked like a rather heavy metal lock-box which was decorated in intricate etching that appeared to depict a forest. The box had bronzed handles on either side and it seemed that the man was required to hold it by both to support its weight.

The first man spoke, his voice kind and calm, his accent, seemed to Harry, Germanic. "You are Harry James Potter; son of James and Lily Potter?" Harry nodded affirmatively, unafraid, but unsure of whom these men were and what they might want.

The man turned toward Aunt Petunia. "And you are Petunia Dursley, sister of Lily Potter, the boy's mother?"

"I am," Petunia squeaked out, obviously unsure as well of what this was all about.

The man reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a silver business card holder. He flipped it open and drew out a card to hand to Petunia. He in turn handed one to both Harry and Uncle Vernon as he introduced himself. "My name is Reinhold Prächt, of the Swiss legal firm Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prächt. I represent the estate of the boy's grandparents, Deyton and Philomena Potter."

At the mention of the names – names he had never, to his knowledge, heard before in his life – a torrent of questions burst forth in Harry's mind, as though a floodgates had opened. His very first thought was _'why?'_ Why had he never heard the names of his grandparents before, and moreover, _why had he never even wondered about them?_

Harry's mind filled with questions. _Were those really his grandparents' names? Why had no one ever told him anything about them? Why had he never asked? What did this man mean – he represented their estate? Why was a Swiss law firm representing his grandparents and why was this the first time they had attempted to contact him? What was the lock-box? What was in it?_

Harry suddenly realized that Mr. Prächt was watching him closely. He looked up, his questions playing across his face. "What is this all about?" Harry asked deliberately.

"It is, young sir, specifically about your inheritance," Mr. Prächt replied, smiling, "an inheritance that the firm has been the guardian of since before you were born. Actually, since before your father was born."

The meaning of the conversation seemed to be dawning on Uncle Vernon; he appeared to be holding his breath and he began turning a rather deep violet. "You…" Vernon blurted out, "You're the man that sent my wife that account book when this one…" he wagged a thick purple finger at Harry, "…was left on our doorstep?"

Mr. Prächt turned to Vernon and rather crisply replied, "Yes, sir, that was I… though I was a great deal less experienced then in wizarding law. That account is one of the matters I wished to discuss with Mr. Potter."

"Well, you can't have it back!" Vernon blurted out angrily, a panic-stricken expression distorting his face, making his mustache wave with his heavy breaths.

Mr. Prächt calmly removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief he produced from within his jacket. He looked up at Vernon, whose breathing was gradually slowing. "I assure you, Mr. Dursley, that if Mr. Potter wished it, I would and certainly could have it back." He replaced his glasses upon the bridge of his nose.

Vernon's face bunched up in anger, the deep violet of his cheeks spreading across his forehead, and Harry would not have been surprised if steam had issued from his nostrils. "Get out!" Vernon yelled. "Get out of my home! I'll not have you lot come into my home and threaten me in this manner…"

Suddenly, Vernon stopped in mid-rant. In fact, he more than stopped; he froze completely, as though he had been hit with _Petrificus Totalus._

"Thank you, Heinrick," Mr. Prächt said to the larger man, who nodded calmly. Harry noticed then that the larger man had produced a wand from within his jacket; he'd obviously cast a non-verbal spell upon Uncle Vernon. The lock-box appeared to be floating in front of him, supported now by only one hand.

Aunt Petunia gasped. "What have you done to Vernon?" she asked fearfully, as she tried to back away against the kitchen counter.

"I assure you, Mrs. Dursley, your husband is quite unharmed." He held out a hand toward Harry's aunt. "I simply could not abide his irrational interference. Now perhaps we should all have a seat at the table and conduct our business?"

Petunia glanced at her petrified husband with a look of fear, but allowed herself to be led to the dinning room table.

Once Harry and his aunt were seated, Mr. Prächt set his briefcase down on the table and opened it. "Now the first order of business is to establish your identity, Mr. Potter."

"Before we begin," Harry interrupted, "I have to ask you and your friend to do something for me." He watched the two men carefully. Neither seemed at all fazed by Harry's words. "I will need to see your forearms."

Both men removed their jackets without question and drew up their sleeves to show Harry their arms. If this struck Aunt Petunia as odd, she seemed to be too frightened still, to ask any questions.

"All right…" Harry said after closely examining each man's left arm for any traces of the Dark Mark. "Well then, you wanted to confirm my identity?"

Mr. Prächt withdrew a linen scroll from his case. It had a wax seal and a ribbon tied around it. "This scroll will accomplish that." He snapped the wax seal, pulled the ribbon, unrolled the scroll and set it in front of Harry, turning it so Harry could read the elaborately written words.

_I, _, affirm my identity by blood as the sole surviving member of the House of Potter._

Beneath these words was a beautifully drawn family crest, and beneath that a place for him to sign, and a space for a witness.

Harry looked up at Mr. Prächt.

"The process is very simple." Mr. Prächt pulled what appeared to be a thick Muggle fountain pen from his case and handed it to Harry. "First you fill in your name in the blank." He produced a small, thin, extremely sharp looking dagger. "Then you prick your thumb to draw a drop of blood and press it to the family crest. If your identity is accepted then you sign the document." He motioned to the signature line as he set the dagger down next to the scroll. "Then if your aunt would be kind enough to witness the document, we will be able to proceed?"

Harry looked over at his aunt, who still seemed to be quite frightened by all of this, but had obviously been able to follow the conversation as she nodded at Harry.

Harry gripped the pen firmly and wrote his full name carefully in the blank space provided. Then he set the pen down, took up the dagger in his left hand and pressed the sharp tip to his right thumb. The blade was so sharp that it easily and quite painlessly cut his flesh, allowing a drop of blood to swell there. He set down the dagger and pressed his thumb to the illustrated crest. At once he felt a warm sensation move through his body, and the ink, where he had written his name, was absorbed by the linen and re-emerged as though written by the original scribe in the same hand.

Harry pulled his thumb away and took up the pen once more, signing and dating the document at the signature line. Then he turned the scroll and pushed it toward his aunt, who signed and dated the witness line.

At Mr. Prächt's instruction, she pricked her finger with the dagger and let a drop of blood fall onto her signature; at which point both signatures glowed for an instant with a faint light.

"Very good," Mr. Prächt began. He leaned forward and retrieved the scroll, coiling it back up and tying it with the ribbon. "I am pleased to inform you, Mr. Potter, that upon the event of your coming of age in just over one month's time, you will legally inherit all real properties, assets, and business interests of the House of Potter. Until such time you may explore your inheritance through the contents of this lock-box, which has remained unopened since it was sealed by your grandfather in nineteen-twenty."

Heinrick stepped forward and placed the box on the table in front of Harry.

Harry peered at it closely. On the top was a gilded, etched and painted crest of the family Potter. Harry traced the design with his fingertip. He immediately recognized the animal symbols of the four Hogwarts founders in the quadrants of a broad shield, behind a rearing stag. Above was a wand and dagger crossed, and below a banner with the words _Servator, Patronim, Defendo._

Heinrick produced his wand from his jacket once more and touched the tip to Petunia's finger. There was a faint glow of golden light and it was healed completely. He did the same for Harry's thumb, before stepping back from the table.

Mr. Prächt produced a small, gold key and handed it to Harry. "This key will open the box for you when you are ready," Mr. Prächt explained, "but remember that it will only be opened by one who is of the blood of the House of Potter."

Harry was dazed by all of these revelations; he wanted to push the key in the lock and throw open the box… but then again, he was not so sure that he wanted to do that in front of his aunt. He fingered the key, and then slowly dropped his hand to his side and pushed the key into his pocket. After a moment, he looked up at his aunt and then at Mr. Prächt. "You said that you also wished to discuss the account which was set up in my aunt's name?" Harry said finally.

"Ah… well, yes," Mr. Prächt said quietly, seeming now a bit embarrassed. "It was the news of unexpected activity regarding the account that prompted my early visit. I wanted to apologize for any confusion concerning the account. I was informed only a few days ago that the monies had been withdrawn from the account on your authority." Mr. Prächt smiled warmly. "And, that you allowed your aunt to keep the funds despite the fact that none of the money had been used on your behalf as intended?"

Harry frowned slightly. "Yes, sir. That was my decision to make, wasn't it?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Prächt responded quickly. "However, you were unaware at the time that the money was coming from your inheritance. I have it within my authority at this time to offer you an opportunity to reverse that decision."

Harry glanced over at his aunt, who was completely pale with fright. "May I ask, sir? If I allow the Dursleys to keep the money, have I given away my inheritance… have I given them all of my grandfather's money?"

Mr. Prächt broke into a sudden, hearty laugh. He was still laughing as he answered. "Oh… no… Mr. Potter… not at all. The deposits made into that account were hardly noticeable against your grandfather's wealth. Most of the accumulated funds were the result of interest." He paused to catch his breath. "As the legal guardian of your inheritance I was merely attempting to provide something for your care. I never imagined that your aunt and uncle would leave it untouched for so long."

"If this money only represents a small portion of the inheritance, then, there is no reason to reverse the decision." Harry said with finality.

"Very good then, Mr. Potter, in that case, I believe our business for the evening is concluded. I will contact you again upon your birthday for a few more formalities but, as your identity is confirmed, there are no obstacles to your inheritance becoming official at that time." Mr. Prächt gathered his case from the table and extended his hand to Harry, who stood and shook it. "You have your key, and lock-box, so you are free to explore your inheritance any time."

"Thank you," Harry said, not knowing what else there was to say.

"If you have any questions before we contact you again on July thirty-first, you may contact me by owl, or by telephone using the information on my card." With that, Mr. Prächt turned toward the door to the hall.

Petunia stood up abruptly, still looking pale and frightened. She pointed at the still frozen form of Vernon in the kitchen, next to the doorway, and blurted out, "What... What about my husband? You're not going to leave him like that?"

"I assure you, Madam-" Mr. Prächt turned to face Petunia, "-your corpulent husband will be himself again within minutes of our departure. And, he will have heard everything that has happened here tonight." He and his white-haired associate gave formal bows, and made their way down the hall to the front door. Harry followed them to the door and watched them leave, in what looked liked a perfectly conventional Muggle car.

Harry returned to the kitchen, where his aunt was fussing over the Petrified Vernon. Harry couldn't suppress his smile as he crossed to the table and looked again at the heavy lock-box. He grabbed it by the handles and hefted it off the table, then quickly made his way to his room and set the box on his bed.

The bellowing voice of his uncle reached his ears, indicating that the spell had lifted. He could tell that his uncle was ranting and that his aunt was trying to calm him, but he was not at all surprised to hear heavy, hurried footsteps up the creaking stairs, and his uncle yelling "Boy!" at the top of his lungs.

Harry crossed to the doorway and stood in the opening to the small bedroom. "I'm here," he said calmly.

"What do you think you're up to, bringing those men in here and having them do magic in my house?" Vernon shouted, his bushy moustache waving furiously about his lips.

"I'm not up to anything, and I didn't invite those men," Harry retorted, still composed, but reacting to his uncle's fury with a rising temper of his own.

"How dare you," Vernon spat, "allow them to put a spell on me!" His face was a deep purple, his fists balled up in anger. "Thought you'd cheat us out of our share, did you… Well, I'll just have a look in that lock-box they gave you. Now move aside!" Aunt Petunia, who was behind her husband on the stairs, looked absolutely horrified, though this time, Vernon seemed to be the cause.

Harry stood his ground, his temper, which he had been calming through meditation, pulled taught as the skin on a drum at his uncle's words, and he knew if he attempted to hold it back it would only burst. Instead he leaned forward, certain that a fury equal to his uncle's shown in his eyes. "No!" he shouted at a volume that surprised him and froze his uncle in place just as surely as the spell had done earlier.

"Listen to me, you greedy, narrow-minded git. You will never have a _'look at'_ my lock-box!" Harry could feel the weight of his years of misery at the hands of the Dursleys, particularly his uncle, boiling to the surface. He made eye contact with his uncle and the emotion… the repressed rage… seethed through his vision. He could feel the older man's will failing under the onslaught of his anger. "You have already gotten all that you'll get from me, and if you aren't content with it then I _will_ call those men and have them take it back. Is that quite clear?"

Vernon took a step back looking horrified and quite wounded.

Harry stepped forward, keeping the gap between them narrow. "All you care about is that shiny new car in your driveway, and that your lawn is greener than your neighbors'. You're a stupid, petty, self-centered buffoon, and I pity your son, who's growing up to be the same. You're a foul, evil man who has tried to make me into something weak and small, simply because you're afraid of what you don't understand. Well — what you don't understand would fill a library!" Harry breathed hard, surprised that the words were simply pouring out of him. "And you have failed to keep me down! So, if you take a step toward that lock-box, or anything that is mine, or breathe an unkind word in my presence until I leave in the morning, I won't need magic to make you regret your cruelty toward me for the rest of your lifetime."

Harry paused; he glanced at his aunt, who was staring at him with a sort of dazed wonder. There was no fear apparent in her expression, just confusion at seeing her husband so thoroughly cowed.

Harry turned back to his uncle; he seemed to be trying desperately to formulate a response, but Harry was not about to give up his advantage. "Now, you're going to go back downstairs and tinker with that ridiculous new telly of yours and be grateful for what I've already given you. You're not going to speak with me at all for the rest of the evening. I'll come down to dinner when it's ready and we'll have a civil last meal together. I expect you to keep your lump of a son in check as well. Tomorrow morning I'll be leaving your home forever and I think it's best if you sleep in until after I'm gone." Harry stopped and stepped back toward the bedroom doorway.

The blood was drained from his uncle's face, leaving him pallid. He had backed up completely against the opposite wall and looked weak, frightened and defeated.

"Have I made myself quite clear?" Harry said, finally returning to a rather calm voice.

Uncle Vernon nodded fearfully, glancing desperately to where Petunia stood on the stairs as though looking for a means of escape.

"Good!" Harry turned abruptly and stepped into his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

The next morning Harry awoke before five o'clock and gathered his few things, placing them in his trunk, and strapping his Firebolt to the side. He put the false Horcrux in his left front pocket and the Chocolate Frog Card Base, along with the key to the lock-box in his right; he carried his trunk down to the front hall as quietly as possible and then brought down the lock-box, and Hedwig's cage. He went up to have a last look around, checking the secret place beneath the loose floorboard just to be sure he was not forgetting anything.

He went back down to the kitchen and was surprised to find his aunt there, pulling bacon and eggs from the refrigerator and preparing to cook them. Harry got himself a glass of orange juice and sat at the table to wait. Soon his aunt brought him a plate of eggs and bacon with toast.

Harry ate in silence, listening impatiently for a knock at the front door.

"Will we ever see you again?" Aunt Petunia said finally, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," Harry responded quietly. "Do you think you'd ever want to?"

An odd expression passed across Petunia's face; Harry was unsure what it was. "Yes… at least, I think I should like to know that you're well from time-to-time," she said.

Harry's expression softened. "Well… if you ever want to contact me, just get in touch with Mrs. Figg. I expect she'd be able to get me a message… Or, would it be okay with you if I sometimes sent a letter with Hedwig… at Christmas maybe?"

"I suppose that would be okay," Petunia said, though she looked a bit apprehensive.

Harry nodded in response and after a moment, she stood and gathered away his empty plate.

At a quarter of six, there was a soft knock at the door and Harry went quietly to open it. There on the stoop were Mr. Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks. Harry waved them in quietly.

"Ready to go, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked in a jovial whisper.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quickly.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks said happily. She was clinging to Lupin's arm and pushing him forward. "We've come to help with your luggage. Is this it here?" She pointed at the trunk with the cage and lock-box atop it.

"Yes, that's everything," he said.

"What's this?" Lupin asked, looking curiously at the crest on the lock-box. He glanced up at Harry with a questioning expression.

"I'll tell you all about it later, I promise. Just now I'm anxious to get going, if you don't mind."

Lupin nodded understandingly and he and Tonks pulled the luggage out the front door and down the drive toward the street.

Harry and Mr. Weasley turned toward the door, and Harry heard a soft noise behind him. He turned to see his aunt in the kitchen doorway. "Goodbye, Harry," she said softly.

"Goodbye," Harry said, as he stepped out and closed the door of number four, Privet Drive behind him.

Harry walked silently next to Mr. Weasley as they followed Lupin and Tonks up the street. Ahead of them a little way, the two turned behind a large hedgerow and Harry heard the familiar soft popping sound of Apparition. A moment later he and Mr. Weasley reached the same spot themselves.

"You're going to have to Side-Along, Harry," Arthur said. "I know you're familiar with it." He offered his arm and Harry reached to take hold of it. "Before we go… I wonder if I might have a quick word?"

Harry looked at Mr. Weasley, a little confused. "Sure, Mr. Weasley," he said questioningly.

"Well, Harry… You know Molly and I think of you as one of our family." Harry blushed and nodded. "And now that you are… well, involved with Ginny… I just want your word that you will conduct yourself appropriately while you are staying with us at The Burrow." Arthur smiled kindly. "It's not that I don't trust you, Harry… I do… It's just that, well… I am a father, Ginny is my only daughter… and well…" Now it was Arthur who was blushing. "I was a young man once myself… You understand?"

Harry flushed with embarrassment, but he nodded just the same. "You have my word, sir," Harry said.

"That's fine, Harry, very fine." Arthur smiled again. "Let's get home then... Everyone's waiting for you.

Harry grabbed Mr. Weasley's arm firmly. There was a sudden "pop" and a familiar swirling implosion, like being wrung through a rather small tube, and then they were there outside the front door of The Burrow.

The low morning sun was casting long shadows across the garden lawn and the sweet floral smells of The Burrow's garden flooded Harry's nostrils. He couldn't help but feel wonderfully happy to be there.

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**NEXT**  
Chapter Ten  
**The Lock-Box**


	11. The Lock Box

Chapter Ten  
**The Lock-Box**

The Burrow was a profound change from Privet Drive. For one thing, everyone there was happy to have Harry among them – some of course a bit more than others, as Ginny would barely leave Harry's side after his arrival.

The open grounds beyond the Burrow's low-walled garden were an inviting expanse of calm in contrast to the crowded boxy houses of Little Whinging. And in the adjoining field there was a roughly marked Quidditch pitch, which would certainly be put to much good use over the remainder of the summer.

The morning of his arrival there had been an impromptu welcome party. The twins had dropped by for breakfast, Lupin and Tonks had stayed, Moody had shown up with Oliver Wood and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and of course Fleur was there with Bill, who came awkwardly down the stairs to join the party.

Bill's face was much healed, though the ragged bite marks across his left cheek and the claw marks from above his right eye to his chin still looked wet and unclosed. He leaned heavily on a wooden crutch under his left arm and had Fleur for support at his right side. He waved and said "Welcome" to Harry from the steps, his smile a gross recollection of his former handsome appearance. Fleur had settled him into a chair near the stairs and come to give Harry a hug.

Mrs. Weasley had of course provided a huge meal and everyone wanted to know how Harry's time with his aunt and uncle had gone. The matter of the Gringott's account, and the fact that Harry had given his relatives the money seemed to be common knowledge, but not everyone was aware that the Weasleys too had been given a portion of the account, which was of course their business to reveal, to Harry's way of thinking.

Harry simply smiled and tucked into his second breakfast in order to answer as few questions as possible, keeping his answers limited to, "It was fine. There were no problems." And, "I'm just happy to finally be here."

By eight o'clock an impromptu game of Quidditch had been proposed by the twins and they had moved the party to the pitch were Oliver and Harry were chosen as opposing captains. The teams consisted of Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Fred, against Oliver, Tonks, George, and with considerable persuasion, Fleur, with Remus agreeing to conjure goal hoops for either side of the field and to act as the referee.

They had to modify the rules so that the Beaters could also act as Chasers, and they played with only one Bludger, but they had a lively pick-up game that carried them through the morning, with the rest of the guests cheering them on from time to time as they came and went from the edge of the field. Even Bill managed his way out to the field and appeared to be very happy to cheer on his fiancé.

Harry captured the snitch just after noon through a spectacular bit of flying in the sloth position. He snatched it away right when Tonks was inches from nabbing it herself, winning the game for the younger team and causing a loud round of cheers from the rest of the guests.

They lunched on sandwiches in the garden and after everyone had been afforded an opportunity to clean up and change out of their soiled game clothes, Harry returned to the sitting room where he found everyone lounging about, apparently waiting for him. Harry stood at the base of the stairs, looking at the expectant faces, and knew what they wanted to know.

As if he had read Harry's mind, Lupin spoke, "We all know about the Gringott's money, Harry. Everyone in the Order knows at least that there was a mysterious account, but no one beyond will ever know if you wish it. We are just curious."

With a deep sigh, Harry told them why he had given the money to his relatives. He then explained about Mr. Prächt's visit during the last afternoon at Privet Drive. Everyone in the room sat in rapt attention at this new information.

"So that is what that new lock-box you have is all about?" Lupin asked finally.

"Yes," Harry responded quietly.

"This is an interesting development," Moody croaked in his gravelly voice. "I want to take a look at this lock-box. Have you opened it?" His magical eye, Harry could see, was clearly focused on Harry's belongings up in Ron's room.

"No, I haven't," Harry said.

"And Dumbledore never hinted at anything about a larger inheritance… while he was still with us?" Lupin asked, his voice trailing off quietly, aware that the subject might be sensitive so soon after the Headmaster's death.

"I don't think Dumbledore knew about any of this," Harry said flatly, trying to hide any indication in his voice that this thought was anything but speculation.

"I'll need you," Moody interjected, "to bring the box down and let us examine it before you attempt to open it?" He held Harry's gaze for a moment, almost as though he were trying to will Harry to agree. Harry could feel somehow that it was a deep concern that was driving him. The older man's face softened – in as much as Alastor Moody's face was capable of softening – and he seemed to find his next words of assurance. "We won't open it, I promise. We'll only examine it for dark magic."

Before Harry could respond a voice cut in, perhaps the one Harry would have suspected the least of having anything to say. "Eet is doubtful, I sink, zat zumthing from Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prächt, would have any dark magic azzociated with eet," Fleur stated matter-of-factly.

All eyes turned toward Fleur, who looked somewhat confused by the sudden attention.

"You know about this law firm?" Lupin asked.

"Yes," Fleur replied with slight surprise. "Zey are very well known in France, and most of zee continent "None of you 'az ever 'eard of zem?"

"No, missy, we have not," Moody said gruffly.

"Perhaps zey are not known because zey are… oow you say? A _Squib_law firm? I 'ave seen zat in zis country zere is much more prejudice against Squibs and half-wizards and Muggle-borns zen zere is in most of Europe."

There was a long pregnant pause.

"I still want to examine that box, Harry," Moody broke the silence. Most everyone else in the room seemed to agree as heads were nodding all around.

Harry turned without a word and went back up the stairs. He returned a minute later carrying the lock-box. Moody and Shacklebolt accepted it from him at the bottom of the stairs and took it to the kitchen.

"This goes with it." He handed the key to Moody who looked at it as though it might be a dangerous object. "I don't feel like hanging around for the examination." The men nodded to him. "Don't open it?"

"We promise," Shacklebolt assured him. "We only want to be sure it is safe."

Harry nodded and turned to head out the door. Ginny, and then Ron, trailed out behind him.

Harry was heading down the garden path toward the small dock at the pond. Ginny had caught him up and they were now walking hand in hand. "Wait up, mate," Ron called after them. Harry and Ginny turned their heads together to look at Ron, and Harry cut their pace so that Ron could catch them. "Hey, aren't you worried about letting them tinker about with your box?"

"No… not really, I'm certain it's safe," Harry responded nonchalantly. "I figure it'll give them all something to do for a while so we can talk ourselves. I just wish Hermione was here, so I didn't have to tell everything twice."

"You don't," Ginny said emphatically. "Whatever you want to talk about can hold for a couple of days." Ginny's expression was stern, and amazingly like that of her mother when she was in full-on mother hen mode. "Hermione will arrive in a couple of days. I think we should just have a few days of relaxation to ourselves." She smiled then. "Some time to just be ourselves and not worry about the future."

Harry looked at Ron who shrugged in typical Weasley fashion. There was the same resignation in his expression that would have shone were it his mother making a similar proclamation.

After a couple moments consideration Harry responded, "Okay, Ginny… You're right," He knew he was being handled, that it was her way of looking out for him, trying to keep him from worrying or fretting too much, and he was content to let her assume that role. "So what do we do till then?" He smiled mischievously.

"Well… there's Wizard's chess, and Exploding Snap. I expect we have a set of Gobstones around here somewhere, and you two will probably want to compare and trade Chocolate Frog Cards." Ginny smiled teasingly. "Or, you could help me study?"

Harry hugged her to his side, Ron conveniently noticing something in the other direction that very likely wasn't there.

Ginny hugged him back, laying her head against his neck. "I'm just happy you're finally here," she whispered.

"Me too, Ginny, believe me… me too," Harry spoke breathily into her soft, wondrously floral-scented hair.

Together, the three of them sat at the end of the low dock, took off their shoes and socks, and dangled their feet in the water. Ron filled Harry in on all the "goings on" at the twins' shop, all the new products, inventions, and plans for expansion.

Ginny went on and on about her new owl, about how loyal and affectionate he was, and how he would be so much help when the wedding invitations were to be sent out. She had been pouring over her History of Magic text to find a name for him, as she knew that was how Harry had named Hedwig, and had finally settled on the name "Kyne" after an ancient member of Muggle royalty who had turned out to be a wizard.

The air was warm, the pond cool, and the hours meandered by as they lazed on the dock, watching the clouds roll overhead, pointedly not talking about anything of consequence. Harry realized that he was, in that moment, as happy as he had ever been, and more carefree then he had ever allowed himself to be.

Harry gave Ginny's hand a soft squeeze, and was immediately rewarded with a gentle return. He rolled his head away from the sky and faced Ginny who had just turned her own head to face him. He felt he could become safely lost in the depth of her soft, brown eyes.

They returned to the house a little before supper, as measured by Ron's increasing proclamations that he was getting hungry. Mrs. Weasley was busy preparing what smelled like a feast, and Fleur was directing most of the guests in the task of setting up tables in the garden.

Ginny was beckoned away to help her mother and reluctantly released Harry's hand to do so.

"You two take Harry's box back up to your room and get down here to help in the garden," Mrs. Weasley said, as she turned from a pan to bend and check something in the oven.

Ron and Harry obeyed, taking the lock-box off the table and hurrying up the stairs.

Harry visually inspected the lock-box as they went, but could not detect any evidence of the magical examination. They arrived in Ron's room and tucked the lock-box beneath Harry's bed.

"Will that be okay there?" Ron asked, gesturing to the lock-box.

"I think so," Harry replied, "very few people know that it even exists."

"So," Harry smiled, "tell me about you and Hermione – I know she's been away – but how's it going?"

Ron blushed furiously, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Harry, I think I've read more this past couple of weeks than I did the whole last term at school." He didn't look at all upset about it. "She's written me nearly every other day."

"So things are good then?"

"Yeah, mate, things are good."

"I'm happy for you both," Harry grinned. "It was about bloody time, you know." They stood in silence for a few moments enjoying their mutual happiness through an unspoken bond that had been theirs since nearly the day they met in the station, first year. Then, as one, they turned toward the door.

In the garden they helped with the folding chairs and greeted new arrivals. More members of the Order had arrived, Minerva McGonagall, Hestia Jones, among others that Harry had only ever seen coming and going from meetings. Hagrid arrived looking, more than anyone, still a bit devastated by the recent loss of Dumbledore. Ginny tried to cheer him up by introducing him to her new owl, Kyne. This did seem to work a little as Hagrid smiled and cooed, with Kyne on one arm, Hedwig on the other, and Pig settling into the mass of hair atop his head.

Mr. and Mrs. Diggory arrived from the village and were quick to seek out Harry for a warm greeting.

Mrs. Weasley served up an elaborate feast worthy of the Hogwarts House-elves, and the group ate and drank, and talked well into the evening at their tables around a roaring fire. Everyone in turn extended their welcome to Harry, as his arrival seemed to be the excuse for the gathering.

Before he excused himself to leave, Moody returned the gold key to Harry and informed him that they could find nothing amiss about the lock-box. Harry took the opportunity to ask Moony about setting up the promised interview with Imani Nowell, the _Daily Prophet_reporter he'd encountered in Diagon Alley, and Moony agreed to make arrangements.

As the evening progressed a dark undercurrent emerged in the conversations. Speculation and concern for the future flowed through the gathering.

The twins had been doing their best to cheer up Hagrid and in the process had gotten him quite drunk. By the time most of the guests were leaving, Ron had joined in the Hagrid-cheering with his brothers and the core of the Weasley clan were gathered at a single table, sharing stories of youthful adventures and, in Hagrid's tales, strange beasts.

No one seemed to notice when Ginny and Harry slipped away into the house and took up seats on the sitting room sofa before the crackling fireplace. They had shared words all day and so wasted no time on them now, but fell together into one another's arms, their lips pressed together with an urgency created by the desire to have been in this place and this position far earlier.

After nearly an hour of intense snogging they lay together on the couch, Harry's arms wrapped about Ginny as they watched the fading glow of the fire's embers. Mrs. Weasley was shooing everyone toward bed and instructing the twins to see Hagrid home before returning to their own apartment above their shop in Diagon Alley. Bill and Fleur, Mr. Weasley and Ron all marched toward the stairs dutifully. Harry and Ginny were perfectly still, barely breathing as they listened to the footsteps creaking up the stairs and Mrs. Weasley casting quiet cleaning spells and humming conspicuously in the kitchen.

The dishes made quiet clinks as they floated in from outside and washed themselves in the sink. In barely fifteen minutes the sounds were slowing and Harry knew that the kitchen was ready for breakfast in the morning.

"All right, you two," Molly Weasley called from the kitchen, "Off to bed already." She had obviously known he and Ginny were there all along.

Ginny rolled up reluctantly and stood, straightening her rumpled jumper. Harry rose as well. "Yes, Mother," Ginny said in a voice that dripped with reluctance. She dragged Harry toward the stairs by the hand.

"Good night, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said with strain as he was pulled away.

"Good night Harry… Ginny," Molly said.

At the door to Ginny's bedroom they kissed again. Harry held her tight, reluctant to say goodnight, but worried that her mother would be trailing them up the stairs at any moment. "Ginny," he whispered through their pursuant lips.

"I know," she said, as she reluctantly released him, "time for sleep." She smiled up at him. She backed into her door, easing it open with her hip. "See you in the morning." She winked, and disappeared into the room, the door closing slowly behind her.

Harry exhaled heavily and turned toward Ron's room. Ron was already snoring so Harry slipped in quietly, got quickly into his bed and soon fell asleep himself.

* * *

The next day Ron went into work for the twins. Harry and Ginny had a wonderful day together under the watchful eye of Mrs. Weasley. Tuesday morning, despite not planning to work, Ron was up at the crack of dawn. He fidgeted his way through the morning, not wanting to eat. Harry tried to engage him in a game of Wizard Chess about nine o'clock, but after he took Ron's knight in three moves, he knew that Ron would just not be good for anything until Hermione arrived.

After lunch he and Ginny drug Ron down to the pond for a swim, but he was just no fun at all.

As they were returning to the house they heard the distinct sound of Apparition and Ron brightened up immediately.

They came to the gate in the stone garden wall and saw immediately that Hermione had arrived. She looked wonderfully tanned as she stood next to her Hogwarts trunk. She was wearing a bright floral sun dress which tied up the back, and something in her posture looked a little tired to Harry. Ron had stopped at the gate, his mouth agape. Hermione had not seen them yet as she was standing facing the house.

Ginny called out to her and ran to give Hermione a big hug. Hermione turned, a huge smile crossing her lips at the sight of her friends and the exuberant red-head bounding toward her. Crookshanks leapt from Hermione's arms and padded toward the flower beds. Harry noted Ron's sudden hesitance and couldn't help thinking that the wrong Weasley was rushing forward. Harry clapped Ron on the back and shoved him ahead.

"Your girlfriend's arrived Ron, get over there and show her how much you've missed her," Harry said.

"But… but what if she's changed her mind?" Ron asked in a whisper.

"You git, she hasn't changed her mind. Just look at her," Harry responded, also at a whisper, as the girls were now stepping toward them. Harry shoved Ron hard again. "Now is not the time for hesitation, Weasley. If you've missed her, show her."

Ron gulped hard and his cheeks flushed; he stepped forward, bold in his action once he made eye contact with Hermione. They stepped toward each other, neither saying a word, their eyes locked. Ron caught her up in a fierce hug and kissed her. Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron's neck and seemed to melt into him.

Ginny came back to Harry smiling, and took his arm. "What did you say to him?" she whispered.

"Nothing really… he just needed a little push." Harry smiled.

Ron and Hermione broke their kiss and Ron pressed his forehead to hers. "So… how was Greece?" he stammered, short of breath.

"I've missed you too," Hermione breathed back. "And Greece was fine."

"Hey, do I get to say hello, too?" Harry interrupted. Hermione peeled herself out of Ron's embrace and hugged Harry.

Ginny took Hermione's hand and pulled her away. "Let's go tell Mum you've arrived." They turned and Ginny practically skipped toward the door, pulling Hermione all the way. "And I've got so much to tell you." A moment later Ron and Harry heard Molly's excited greeting.

"Thanks mate," Ron said quietly.

Harry looked over at him. "Anytime — So, I expect we ought to take Hermione's trunk up to Ginny's room?"

Ron nodded and they each took an end.

* * *

The twins returned that evening for supper and spent a good portion of the evening expounding teasingly about their younger siblings' new relationships. Ron blushed furiously through the whole meal.

Despite frequent warning and admonishments from their parents, and looks of disdain from Fleur, there was no holding Fred and George back from the golden opportunity of having the two, new, young couples right there at hand.

Harry and Ginny held hands beneath the table and laughed through the whole thing. Hermione scowled so much that she looked as though she would wear a permanent frown. Fleur looked rather affronted by the twins' behavior, as she was clearly supportive of the relationships, and Bill chuckled, used to his brother's antics.

Before the meal, Ginny had whispered to Harry that she was prepared for this and had shown him a pair of Weasley Brand _Invisible Hot Foot Fuses_. Together they had agreed to retaliate if the situation got too uncomfortable.

While Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were up getting pudding, Ginny slipped the fuses to Harry and he carefully levitated them to the twins' shoes beneath the table. He was excited to actually use magic again after a few weeks without it, and was surprised at how easily he accomplished the task with a silent spell and a flick of his wand. He was not worried about the decree of underage magic use, being now in a magical household.

At the twins' next silly questions about duel weddings and multi-child prams, Hermione's scowl turned into a blush as deep as Ron's and Ginny finally spoke up. "Haven't you two got anything else to talk about?" She stared them into silence. "I'm telling you to leave off."

The twins immediately turned on their sister. "Oh, is our widdle sister upset by a widdle teasing?" George said, practically folded over with laughter. "Of course she's not," Fred said. "She's got Harry to protect her."

"Fred! George! Enough!" Mrs. Weasley admonished in a low shout for perhaps the twelfth time.

Harry calmly looked up from his plate and caught the twins' eyes. If he hadn't been smiling so widely they might have actually taken him seriously, but he couldn't stop his grin. "That's right, you know. Ginny does have me to protect her… and don't forget that Ron and Hermione are my closest friends as well."

The twins looked at each other for a silent moment and then roared with laughter, literally falling from their bench. "What are you going to do Harry, hex us?" Fred said. That wouldn't be very guest-like," George finished.

Harry and Ginny were laughing too. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked rather confused and upset, and Ron and Hermione were still blushing with embarrassment.

"Hex you? No…" Harry was grinning and laughing still. "Why would I hex you when you two make it your business to invent more incredible means of revenge in your very own shop?"

The twins stopped laughing immediately, as did everyone at the table but Harry and Ginny. Ron and Hermione's embarrassed looks turned to wide-eyed anticipation. The twins got up from the floor and began patting themselves down looking hurriedly for anything hidden in their clothing. They were like characters from an old silent slap-stick as they searched for some offending object. Finally they stopped and looked at each other, everyone at the table was roaring with laughter. They turned toward Harry. "Are you just having us on?" George said. "Good one, Harry, suggesting you'd use one of our own inventions against us."

Harry, who had calmed himself down and was eating his tart again, just smiled up at them as everyone watched him. "Who said it was just a suggestion?" He pulled his wand up from his lap and waved it silently toward the twins' feet.

Immediately the twins began dancing up and down as though they were suddenly standing on a bed of hot coals. They were yelling and stomping and together ran out the kitchen door to the garden.

Even Bill, Fleur, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were roaring with laughter now, as everyone got up from the table and followed the twins outside. Ron clapped Harry on the back and smiled at him.

"Serves them right," Hermione said, a bit more judgmentally than Harry would have expected.

For a couple of minutes the twins danced around the garden, rapidly kicking up their knees, their legs flailing; they tried desperately to remove their shoes, but apparently the _Hot Foot Fuses_were so ingeniously made that they included both sticking and perpetual lace-tying charms.

Finally the dancing stopped and the twins stood there looking at one another, horrified. They turned to the others watching them. "Harry, were these the _Purple Toes, Blister Blaster _or _Stink Foot Fuses_?"

Harry turned to Ginny, who was hanging on his arm. She was laughing too hard to answer.

There was a loud explosive "pop" and foul green-gray smoke began to issue forth from the twins' shoes. They turned to one another and in unison said, "_Stink Foot Fuses!_"

"This round goes to you, Potter," George warned, a large grin broad across his face. "But don't think this is the end of it," Fred stated matter-of-factly. "Guess we'll be off now. Mum, Dad, thanks for a wonderful meal." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were both still giggling heartily, waved goodbye to their prankster sons. The twins gave a slight bow and Apparated away.

* * *

Later in the evening Mr. Weasley got called away on Ministry business, and Mrs. Weasley went up to help Fleur with Bill's treatments and medicinal exercises, leaving the quartet alone on the ground floor of The Burrow.

Hermione sat in the sitting room on one end of the couch, book in hand, her feet curled up beneath her. It seemed she had recently taken to reading Muggle fiction, and she was deep into something titled _Wuthering Heights_ by an author named _Emily Brontë._

Harry sat across from her, nearer the fireplace, in a sturdy oak rocker that creaked a little as he tipped to and fro on his toes. He watched her carefully and couldn't shake the feeling that there was something weighing on her… something she wasn't telling them.

Ron and Ginny, in a rare occasion of voluntary sibling cooperation, were in the kitchen preparing tea for the four of them.

Harry sat up a little and Hermione, sensing that there was a question, glanced up from her book. In that instant Harry felt an impression from her, like a tickle in the back of his mind that seemed to be saying, "Please… please don't ask." He hadn't done anything but meet her eyes, but the impression was there very clearly. It only caused in him even more questions, but before he could put voice to anything, Ron and Ginny were returning, laden with a large tray each.

Over tea and biscuits, Harry began to tell them everything that had happened over the past two weeks. At first it was mostly bringing Hermione up to speed on the major events, the Gringotts account and the visit from Mr. Prächt. Then he began to explain his discussions with the Dumbledore card, his meditation, and finally determined that it was time to let Ginny in on the secret of the Horcruxes.

Harry paused. "I think we should find another place to talk," he said.

"I know a place," Ginny said, "a place where Mum can see us if she's looking for us. But we can still talk with some privacy." She was up and headed through the kitchen toward the garden door.

"Where, Ginny?" Ron questioned.

Ginny didn't answer but continued across the garden toward the huge sprawling oak tree at the far corner of the garden. She proceeded right to the base of its trunk, negotiating the thick roots with ease, and disappeared around it. On the far side, between the broad tree trunk and the stone garden wall were a series of boards forming a rough ladder. Ginny had already disappeared up the ladder and through a small trap door in the underside of a platform some fifteen feet up into the tree.

Harry followed and emerged onto an open railed deck surrounded by thick leaf cover above. He had of course been up in the tree on previous visits to The Burrow, but it was different now, much larger.

As if she had heard his unspoken thought, Ginny spoke. "Fred and George have been up here lately, I caught them practicing spatial-expansion charms. They have managed to make it much larger than it was."

Harry moved to the rail and looked across toward the house. There was a clear view of Ron's, open bedroom window. Harry raised his wand and summoned the lock-box and a card from his trunk with a simple "Accio."

Ginny was at the trap door looking down through the opening and giggling. "Cut that out and get up here, you two," she said, grinning. Harry shot her a puzzled look. "They're having a quick snog down there," she said. A few moments later Hermione and Ron emerged from the trap door, both blushing slightly.

"This should be private enough for talking," Ginny said.

"It's wonderful," Hermione said as she turned around slowly, looking at the expanded space. "It could use a few touches, though." She began waving her wand and speaking spells. A thick rug covered the decking and cushions appeared in clumps, creating a conversation area. Small points of flickering light appeared scattered throughout the surrounding branches, slightly visible in the shadow of leaf cover, even in the still bright evening.

"If you cast a 'Leaf Whisper' charm, anyone who tries to listen in will only be able to hear the rustling leaves," Ginny told Hermione as she looked approvingly at the conjured comforts. Hermione nodded.

Harry stepped onto the rug and set the lock-box down. He emptied his pockets, pulling out the gold key, the pewter base and the locket, and set them on top of the box. The others gathered around and each took seats around the lock-box, as Harry set the card in its base.

The little image of Dumbledore came to life, smiling kindly. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said. "How wonderful to see you all together again… and Ginny Weasley as well." He seemed very pleased, as he turned to Harry. "I take it then that you have arrived at The Burrow without incident?"

Harry nodded, smiling, feeling Ginny leaning into him and peering excitedly over his shoulder at the animated photo. "Sir, as we discussed earlier, it's time to fill Ginny in on everything," Harry said.

"Ah… very well," Dumbledore said with an expression of calm. He began then to tell the tale of the Horcruxes, beginning with the memories and details about the life of Tom Riddle, and ending with the destruction of Marvolo Gaunt's ring and the uncovering of the Cave.

Ron and Hermione had of course heard the entire story, but none of them had heard it recounted by Dumbledore and they sat in attention to hear the familiar kindly voice again.

At that point Harry had to take up the tale of how he and Dumbledore had journeyed to the cave and found the false Horcrux, on the night of the Death Eaters attack.

When that tale was done Harry recounted for Ginny the events on the train when Fawkes had delivered the Chocolate Frog Collector's Base.

"And so, now everyone has heard everything," Harry said, as he sat back into a plush cushion.

Everyone was quiet for a long minute as the recounting of events settled in their minds. The light evening breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree and the multitude of lights danced like bright, slow-motion fireflies in the branches above.

Ginny leaned against Harry and he wrapped an arm around her reassuringly.  
Across the rug Hermione looked as though a million questions were playing across her mind and she was desperately attempting to select just one.

Ron on the other hand looked as though he didn't have a care in the world as he was watching Hermione closely with an expression of complete contentment.

Finally the quiet was broken by the Dumbledore card. "You have shown remarkable restraint, Harry, in not yet opening the lock-box, as I asked." The little visage looked out at them curiously from the card. "But, as it has now been examined, I think perhaps, there is no reason to wait any longer."

Harry sat up from the cushion, pulling Ginny with him.

Hermione quickly conjured a small table and Harry moved the Dumbledore card there. Ginny had picked up the faux Horcrux and was turning it over and over in her hand. Harry pulled the lock-box closer to him and pushed the gold key into the lock. He tried to turn the key but it wouldn't budge.

"Hmm." Harry frowned questioningly. "Well, I guess I should have thought it wouldn't be that easy," he said, looking around at the others, silently soliciting suggestions.

"It's got to be something to do with you, Harry," Hermione said, "Some way of telling the box that you are a Potter."

"Maybe if you just command it to unlock?" Ginny offered hesitantly.

"Doubtful," the Dumbledore card cut in politely. "Magical seals usually require a more concrete form of identification… a lock of hair, or a fingerprint, or…"

"Blood," Ron said. "It needs a drop of your blood."

They all turned to look at Ron who was still looking at Hermione and seemed as though he had not been listening to a word the whole time. "Excellent, Mr. Weasley," the card said in a proud instructional voice.

"Harry, you said that that Prächt guy told you the box would 'only be opened by one who is of the blood of the House of Potter,' and what with the blood seals on the proof of identity, it just follows that the lock-box needs a drop of blood, too."

Hermione beamed at Ron and gave him a big hug. "Of course," she exclaimed.

"Well if we need a drop of my blood, I'll need something to cut myself with," Harry said. "Perhaps we can summon something from the house?"

"No need," Ron said sheepishly, "I've got just the thing." He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a well worn, discolored badge. On its surface were the letters S – P – E – W; it had obviously been carried in his pocket for a very long time. "Every once in a while the pin of this thing pops free and gets me in the leg, so I know it's sharp enough."

Hermione stared at Ron in complete disbelief, her mouth fallen slightly open. Ginny was giggling at Harry's side and Harry reached out and took the badge from Ron's outstretched hand.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said with a crack to her voice as she practically tackled him into another huge hug and kiss.

Harry unclasped the badge pin and quickly jabbed the tip of his index finger. With a little coaxing a drop of blood formed there. He picked up the key and dabbed the tip of it into the drop of blood. He lined the key up with the lock and slowly pushed it into the slot. "Here goes," he said, as he turned the key, which he was able to do quite easily. There was a slight momentary glow of golden light; an audible 'click' and the lower portion of the lock clasp fell open.

Everyone was watching eagerly as Harry slowly lifted the lock-box lid. He wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting… but what he found inside elicited a slight sigh of disappointment from himself, Ron and Ginny. Hermione on the other hand gasped with excitement and if the Dumbledore card reacted at all, Harry didn't hear it.

The lock box was filled to the top with a very orderly collection of tightly rolled scrolls. On the very top was a neat square of folded parchment with a wax seal. Harry picked up the note and examined it. The wax seal was a miniature replica of the coat of arms on the lock-box.

Harry had an odd feeling, not a bad feeling, but the sort you get when you know that you are about to do something that will change your life forever. Like sensing that something hugely significant is poised ready to jump out at you, and even though you don't know what it is, you are anxious for it to happen anyway. He looked around him and couldn't imagine not sharing everything about himself with these three people… well four, if you included the Dumbledore card. Using the nail of his thumb, he popped the wax seal loose and unfolded the parchment.

He stared down at the crisp white parchment and the fine-lined cursive writing that he saw there. He began to read aloud; everyone was still and quiet, listening intently.

_To our beloved grandson,_

It is our most profound regret that we will not be alive to know you. We feel so much that we already do.

You will not be aware that your Grandmother was a very gifted Seer and Prophetess; it is a vein of magic that we have seen greatly diminished in our lifetimes.

For many years, through your Grandmother's gifts, we have pieced together a most troublesome future. We have foreseen the coming to power of a terrible dark force, and we have seen the way in which our family will be irrevocably affected by this rising evil.

If we are correct, our son and his bride will fall at the hand of this terrible Wizard in an effort to protect you. And you yourself will be branded by this Wizard in an act that will nearly destroy him.

We have seen that this evil will return and its life will be intertwined with your own, but you possess the gifts necessary for this evil's final defeat. And though we cannot be with you, we have tried very hard to prepare for your future beyond this time of trial, which we are confident is yet to be.

As a consequence of our fore knowledge we have made the decision to place our lives and possessions under a unique protection. We have saved out enough resources to provide ourselves and the son we know we shall soon conceive with an adequate lifestyle. The rest, our wealth, our properties, and Potter Manor, have all been hidden under a particularly powerful Fidelius charm, along with many other enchantments powerful enough in fact that no one would ever give the Potters a second thought.

You may wonder now why even you yourself have had little curiosity about your family beyond your parents. This is all the effect of the charms that have protected your family name from consideration by the curious and particularly from the rising evil that has intensely pursued the well-to-do and ancient Wizarding families among which the Potters have long been prominent.

Thus, we have protected everything for your benefit, in the hopes that our resources will not be diminished over time, or by attack, and will be available to you as your true inheritance and birthright as the sole remaining son of the House of Potter.

In this lock-box you will find papers documenting your wealth and possessions, as well as the means to travel to Potter Manor, where you should find resources that we hope will be of great help to you.

The very act of unlocking this box will have broken certain enchantments protecting the Manor and awakening its long sleeping caretaker.

Know that your Grandmother and I have done all of this out of love for you… to give you the greatest advantage possible in facing what you must face. Know also that the Potters have always been protectors, and we have great faith that you have already honored our family in so many ways.

You will be expected at the Manor.

With deep and abiding love,

Your Grandparents,  
Deyton and Philomena Potter.

Harry set the letter down. The others were all looking at him with questioning expressions. Harry turned to the Dumbledore card. "Did you know my grandparents, Professor?" Harry asked.

"My only memories of your grandparents are of meeting them a few times while your father was at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said gently. "If I ever knew more about them, knowledge that might have been unlocked by the learning of these enchantments, I am afraid such knowledge was lost by my death, and can no longer be retrieved."

"So, what's this 'means' to get to Potter Manor?" Ron said suddenly. "If you've got a house bigger than Grimmauld Place, I'd sure like to see it."

"I don't know," Harry said as he leaned forward and began pulling scrolls from the top of the box and dropping them haphazardly across the rug. "Must be something more in here besides old scrolls."

Hermione picked up one of the scrolls and slowly unrolled it.

"Here's something," Harry said excitedly as he pulled a small wooden case up from the bottom of the lock-box. It was perhaps five inches square, and just as deep, making it an almost perfect cube, smooth on all sides and of a darkly stained and polished hardwood. Harry pulled at the top and it came off quite easily. Inside, encased in a cutout, lined with red velvet, was a rather plain looking brass door-knob. He held out the opened box, showing it to the others. "Suppose it's a portkey?" he asked.

"Harry…" Hermione said in a voice they all recognized to mean she had just discovered something… something important. She had one of the scrolls completely unrolled in front of her. "Harry… according to this document you own… well, you own nearly all of the land that is Diagon Alley!"

"What?" Ron blurted out. "How can that be?"

"Well, it says here that management of all the properties is handled through a company named 'Lot and Glebe, Asset Management LTD,'" Hermione added in response.

"The twins deal with a man named Alphineus Lot, to rent their store," Ginny offered.

"Harry, that's only one scroll, there are at least two dozen more here." Hermione said with awe. "How wealthy do you suppose you really are?"

"I don't know," Harry responded, in a rather disappointed voice. "And I really don't care right now… wealth is not so important to me. As exciting as all this is, it doesn't make me forget that Voldemort is still out there… and that apparently, I'm the only one who can defeat him."

Hermione nodded and rolled the scroll up quietly.

"Do you want to check out that door-knob then?" Ron asked. "At least find out what this Potter Manor is all about?"

"Do you think it would be okay?" Harry replied. "Wouldn't your Mum be awfully worried if we all just disappeared suddenly?"

"She would indeed," the Dumbledore card interjected. "I think it would be wise to at least tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before you venture off. There may not be any particular safety concerns, but they still feel responsible for all of you while you are at The Burrow."

"Yes, sir," Ginny said with a sigh. "You're right."

"And as for that door-knob being a portkey," Dumbledore continued, "I suspect it is a much more powerful magical portal than a portkey."

Harry looked down at the box and tipped the knob into his other hand. It was warm to the touch and smooth in his palm, but there was no sudden transportation as there would have been with a portkey. He handed the knob to Ginny who looked at it with wide eyes.

Hermione was gathering the scrolls and setting them back in the lock box.

Harry looked up and noticed that the sun was setting; brilliant gold and ruby light was washing through the leaves all around him. He looked down at the case, still in his hand, and saw a small slip of parchment in the depression where the knob had rested. He fished it out and turned it over to read it.

_Home is the heart of each man's soul  
The place where his peace is found  
To return to his home is every man's goal  
No matter for where he's been bound.  
Twice right and thrice left is the turn of the wrist  
If it is home to the Manor you seek  
Once again for good measure to open the twist  
And be sure of the place that you speak._

Harry read the simple lines a second time then passed it around, finally reading it out loud to the Dumbledore card. Once he had spoken the words, to his great surprise, the paper ignited in a flash of flame and was gone.

"That, I am quite certain was your combination," Dumbledore said softly, "I am sure that between us all we have managed to memorize it."

To be sure, they all recited the lines quickly in unison.

"So you know what this door-knob is, and how to use it Professor?" Harry asked.

"I suspect Harry, that that it is a _Portis Omnibus_," Dumbledore said. "Or what is commonly referred to as an _Any-door-knob_."

"I've read about those," Hermione said excitedly, leaning over to Ginny to get a closer look. "They used to be quite common, before the development of the floo network. Basically it is door-knob that can be used to open any doorway into any other doorway, wherever the turner chooses."

"Yes, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said approvingly. "Though it is not quite as simple as that; you can put that knob on any door, tell it where you want to go and it will open a corresponding door in that place - provided that there is an enchanted doorway to accept." He paused. "And, as evidence by the poem, some doorways will be protected by a combination, so that even though they are appropriately enchanted, they still will not allow access to anyone."

"So with this I can travel instantly to Potter Manor?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry, as long as you use the right combination."

Ginny handed the knob back to Harry who held the warm brass object in both hands, as though he was offering it for everyone to see. He looked at it with intense curiosity and smiled.

* * *

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**NEXT**

Chapter Eleven  
**The Most Noble and Honorable House of Potter**


	12. House of Potter

Chapter Eleven  
**The Most Noble and Honorable House of Potter**

Ron's bedroom was lit only by the beams of moonlight streaking through the upper pane of the solitary, broad window. Harry lay in bed tossing and turning. He had not been able to sleep. He listened to the steady rise and fall of Ron's snoring in the bed across the room, but he knew that after so many years as roommates at Hogwarts, it wasn't the snoring that was keeping him up. It was something else. It was, thinking… thinking about the Manor.

* * *

Once the sun had set, and they had said their "good evening" to Dumbledore and removed the card from its base, they had sat around talking a little about when they could try to investigate the Manor, and then they had fallen into a hushed discussion about the Horcruxes. Hermione, of course, had started pre-planning a research agenda, thinking what books she might be able to acquire to help her investigate the problem.

Soon however, the darkening sky, and twinkling lights in the branches of the oak tree had worked their spell and the two couples had fallen into a lazy cuddling and snogging session at opposite ends of the rug.

Mrs. Weasley proved to have some sort a sense about youthful romance and she was very quickly out in the garden calling them down from the tree and into the house for the night.

Harry had clasped shut the lock-box and levitated it right across the garden and into Ron's bedroom window, but he had kept out the case with the brass knob. Now, he reached beneath the camp bed and retrieved the case. It was smooth and cool in his hand and he sat up in bed, fetching his glasses from the night table.

He opened the case and dumped the knob into his hand. It was warm to his touch, as it had been before. His mind raced at the idea of Potter Manor; he imagined it to be something like Hogwarts, with stone walls and broad corridors. But, then maybe not... As much as he loved Hogwarts, it was an old, often drafty, castle. When he thought of a house he pictured Privet Drive, but he knew he wouldn't want to live in such a place ever again. He realized that what he was imagining kept shifting and he had no real idea of what might await him there.

Whatever it was – it was his home. Really his home – not Grimmauld Place, or Privet Drive, or The Burrow, or even Hogwarts, but Potter Manor, a place where his family had very likely lived for generations. Even if he hadn't shown it, the idea of a place where he was truly meant to be had had a profound effect on him and he was extremely anxious to see it.

On impulse Harry threw the covers off, swung his feet to the floor and stood. Turning, he peered into the shadows toward Ron's bed, thinking, together, they might enjoy a late night adventure, but then there was a particularly loud snore. Ron was obviously rolling in his sleep, and Harry thought he might enjoy this adventure on his own. It was, he thought, a little like visiting the Mirror of Erised during his first year at school; this was something that would have unique meaning, just for him.

Harry grabbed his old robe and threw it on over his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, then he collected his wand, and slowly opened the bedroom door. Quietly he crept down the dark hallway toward the stairs, and, freezing at each creak of the floorboards, slowly made his way to the sitting room. He crossed the room and stepped into the kitchen thinking that a glass of pumpkin juice would be a plausible excuse should anyone catch him up at this hour.

He sat at the kitchen table and drank his juice, listening to the quiet house, and looking intently at the various doors to the room. There was the one back to the sitting room, on a simple two-way spring hinge with no knob, the one to the garden with a heavy iron latch and handle… and then there was the pantry door, a simple four-panel door with a plain wooden knob. That was the door to use.

Harry crossed to the pantry door and opened it, checking that it swung easily, and quietly. He carefully twisted the inner and outer knobs until he was able to remove the knob from the kitchen side. He set the wooden knob on the counter and pulled the _Portis Omnibus_from his robe pocket, fitting it in the former's place. A ribbon of soft, blue light emerged from the catch and stretched itself along the edge of the door in both directions. Harry pushed the door closed gently. It appeared as though the door were brightly lit from the opposite side.

Behind him there was a very soft gasp and Harry swung around, leveling his wand at the intruder.

"Going somewhere?" Ginny asked quietly "Without any of your friends?"

Harry lowered his wand. "I couldn't sleep… I… well… I want to see the Manor, just for a minute. I didn't want to wake anyone."

Ginny smiled and shuffled up to Harry. "I understand, Harry, but would you mind very much taking me with you?" She wrapped her arms around his waist, inside his robe, and pulled herself close to him. "I couldn't sleep either, and I heard you on the stairs. Only Ron and I know where to step to avoid the creaks."

Harry chuckled as he hugged her close, enjoying the sheer feel of her satin pajama top, and breathing the scent of her hair. "Of course you can come with me, but we'd better be quick… And we don't even know if this knob works yet."

Ginny looked up at the blue glowing outline around the pantry door, so prominent in the dark kitchen. "Oh, I suspect it works," she said playfully. "Do you remember the combination?"

"I think so." Harry took her right hand in his left and entwined their fingers. He pocketed his wand and reached for the brass knob. He turned it a half turn to the right and it sprang back to center, just as a normal door knob. He turned it again to the right and then three times to the left. One last time he turned the knob to the right and as he did so he said "Potter Manor" and pulled gently on the door. The door swung open easily and the whole doorway seemed to be filled with a sheer fabric of soft blue threads of light.

Ginny gasped excitedly.

Harry pulled the knob free and pocketed it in his robe, drawing out his wand. "Ready?" he whispered.

"Ready," Ginny confirmed, as she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Harry stepped through the threads of light, Ginny a half step behind him, and they emerged into total darkness. The only significant changes that Harry detected were that the air was cooler, and he could now feel a soft plush rug beneath his bare feet, where before there had been the cool stone floor of The Burrow kitchen.

There was a soft thud as the door closed behind them.

Ginny clung to Harry as he whispered "Lumos" and lit the tip of his wand.

They were standing in a wide hall, longer than they could see in the wand light. The walls and floor were a light color and a thick carpet runner stretched beneath them. Harry quickly turned back to the door that had closed behind them and opening it discovered a large cloak closet.

Above they discovered a vaulted ceiling covered in an elaborate fresco, depicting a wizard standing at a castle window. The wizard had a long, white, braided and bound beard, which nearly reached the floor. His hair too was white and long, flowing down the man's back from beneath a traditional pointed hat. The depicted wizard carried a gnarled staff and wore a thick purple and gold robe.

"That's Merlin," Ginny said in a whisper that sounded of awe and respect. As she spoke, the painted figure turned its head slightly and gave a small nod, but made no sound.

There was a sound of footsteps behind them and a soft panting breath, and Harry spun around abruptly, shining his wand light on the hallway.

"Master?" The word sounded odd to Harry, spoken as a question in a voice very much like Dobby's, only a bit lower. "Young Master Potter?" The voice broke a little, a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Harry found the source with his wand light. It was indeed a house-elf, a rather tall, skinny elf compared to the others he had seen. Or, perhaps it was only the fact that the elf was fully dressed that made it appear taller.

This elf, somewhat like Kreacher, had no hair on its head apart from a number of rather thick grey hairs protruding from its high, pointed ears. Its eyes were large, bulbous and a rather pale, aqua-green and its narrow nose hooked downward. Harry had the distinct impression that this was a very aged elf, as old, if not older, than Kreacher.

"Harry," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Master Harry," the elf squeaked joyfully, and stepped forward. The elf was wearing a perfectly tailored suit of clothes that looked like it had come from the eighteenth century, complete with leather shoes with polished buckles, white stockings, knee length trousers and a dark blue velvet coat with narrow tails.

"Jarphred, at your service, sir," the elf said as he made a small dignified bow. "But please, Jarvy, if you prefer. You were not expected at so late an hour, sir, and not with company." Jarphred looked Ginny up and down apparently quite approvingly, as he was smiling broadly.

"Wait a moment… You are the house-elf of this place?" Harry asked. The elf nodded confusedly. "But hasn't this house been sealed, like the lock box?"

"Yes sir, Jarphred himself was asleep under an enchantment." Jarvy bowed again. "Jarvy begged for the honor, awaking only hours ago; my apologies that there has not been time to properly clean the Manor."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Jarvy," Harry responded.

"Master is too kind." Jarvy snapped his fingers and lights flickered into being all along the hall. These were not the flickering torches of Hogwarts, but neat, gas-light sconces placed at even intervals along the hall and the light was much more bright and consistent.

"You served my grandfather, Jarvy?"

"Every day of his life," the stout elf said proudly.

Jarvy motioned toward the open hall. "This way, sir and madam; you will wish to see more of the manor?" Jarvy turned and began to walk slowly down the hall.

They emerged from the hall into a great cavernous foyer. Opposite them across the foyer was another short hallway much like the one they had stepped from, ending in a set of double doors. To their right were two hallways flanking a broad marble staircase that went up to a second level and, from the look of it, split into two and continued up for at least another two stories. A crystal chandelier hung down into the space to light the foyer.

Across the space, on the wall between the entry and hallway, above a beautiful Victorian side-board was a large life-size painting of a very handsome couple, dressed in formal dress robes. At first Harry thought the man could be an older version of his father, but then he realized it must be his grandfather.

"These, Harry," Jarvy said, gesturing up at the portrait, "are your grandparents, Deyton and Philomena Potter." The couple in the portrait, upon hearing their names, turned from their rather formal pose and bent down as though to get a closer look. The woman burst into happy tears. The man took her hand and patted it gently.

"Its okay, Mena, we knew this day would come. It is only our grandson." The elderly man spoke softly and reassuringly to the woman. Then he turned and looked questioningly at Harry.

"Harry, sir, my name is Harry James Potter," Harry spoke slowly, and stood straight. His grandmother sobbed happily in response to his name. Ginny was standing a bit behind him, nervously biting at her thumbnails, her hands clasped against her chin.

Harry realized suddenly that he was standing there in his pajamas, his robe hanging open, and Ginny, behind him, was in her satin, sleeveless, pajama top and pants, without a robe at all. He quickly pulled off his robe. "I am sorry to come so late," he said apologetically. "I didn't plan it; my curiosity got the better of me." He moved to put his robe around Ginny and gently pulled her forward. "Grandfather, Grandmother, this is my friend… my girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley."

Philomena clutched at her husband's arm anxiously and smiled. "Ginny? Weasley?" she asked as though she knew the names already.

"Yes, ma'am," Ginny said as she gave an awkward curtsey. "It's such a pleasure to meet you."

Philomena smiled so wide at Ginny that Harry was sure she would have grabbed her up into a huge hug if she had been able to get out of the painting.

Deyton produced a painted handkerchief from his robe pocket and handed it to Philomena. "You have to forgive your grandmother, Harry. We've been waiting such a long time for you to arrive. She is just quite overjoyed." The elder Potter smiled down at Harry and Ginny. Harry suddenly felt a sort of comfort that he had never known in his entire life, and realized now, that he did not know how much he had craved. It was the real love of family that exuded from this portrait like splashes of bright sunlight through a stained glass window. He knew he was grinning at his grandparents like a fool. He didn't care.

"Jarvy," Deyton said kindly. "Would you show Harry and Ginevra to the drawing room and set them in front of a fire? They'll catch a chill in the hall."

"Yes, sir," Jarvy squeaked.

"But I want to talk more," Harry protested.

"We want to talk too, darling," Philomena said, still wiping her swollen eyes. "Your Grandfather and I each have another portrait in the drawing room."

"Oh." Harry continued to grin.

To get to the drawing room, Jarvy led them through the double doors into a huge lounge where there were several clustered seating areas, then into another long hall filled with dozens of portraits. Many of the portraits protested as the lights flickered to life, but they quieted to awed murmurs as Harry and Ginny passed. Harry slowed almost to a stop, studying the images as thoroughly as they seemed to be studying him. But Jarvy spurred him on, "Come, young Master, now is not the time for meeting the paintings." Ginny squeezed Harry's hand and gently tugged him forward.

At the end of the hall they emerged into another large room. This room seemed to be dominated by a huge fireplace, where a roaring fire burst into crackling life at Jarvy's command. The walls were wood panel, floor to ceiling, and thick wine-colored curtains hung along the entire expanse of one wall.

As promised, on each side of the fireplace was a large portrait; these however were simple images of empty wing-back chairs that looked like they had been painted in the room. As Harry watched, his Grandparents came into the frames, Deyton on the right and Philomena on the left. Each sat in their chair completing the portraits.

Harry fell into an easy conversation with his grandparents, at first learning all about his father's life, before and during his time at Hogwarts. He also told them about growing up with the Dursley's, before his own Hogwarts years. Ginny listened intently as Harry recounted more details of his life than even Ron and Hermione knew – Harry had always been reserved about his times away from school and friends.

Jarvy had left them in front of the roaring fire on a plush, comfortable sofa. Later, he returned with a procession of floating trays. He poured out tea for them with milk and sugar, and offered them an array of treats that easily rivaled the baking case at Mrs. Scheffelgroober's, in Diagon Alley.

As the hours passed, Harry learned that there had been seven generations of Potters in the time since the construction of Hogwarts School and that from that time, there had only ever been a single child born in each generation - always a dark-haired son.

After listening for a couple of hours, Ginny succumbed to sleep, cuddling up close to Harry on the soft couch beneath his comforting arm. Despite his interest and excitement, Harry too eventually could not hold sleep away and drifted into a contented slumber, listening all the while to the soft voices of his grandparents' portraits.

* * *

"Wake up, Ron!" Hermione shook him roughly, her voice invading his lingering dream of her. "Do you know where Harry is?"

Ron lifted his head and tried to focus his blurry eyes on the camp bed across the room. "Isn't he in his bed?" he said with a stifling yawn.

"No Ron, he's not… And Ginny is missing too!" Hermione sounded frightened.

Ron sat up quickly, knuckling his eyes hard as if he could press away sleep. "Are you sure they aren't already up, and down to breakfast?" he asked through yet another yawn.

"I've been down to breakfast already and Ginny wasn't there." She exhaled heavily, exasperated. "I said I would come up and wake you and Harry, but Harry isn't here." There was a growing look of panic on Hermione's face.

"Well, don't jump to conclusions, Hermione," Ron said doubtfully, "They've just got off somewhere together is all."

"But, where, Ron - and what are we going to tell your parents? They'll be furious,"

Ron, looking over at Harry's bed, suddenly noticed the small polished _Portis Omnibus_box lying open on the bed, mostly obscured by the tossed covers. He got up from his bed quickly and crossed to Harry's, where he pulled away the covers retrieving the empty box and cover. He held it out for Hermione to see. "The Manor… They've gone to the Manor."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh dear… Why would they go without us? And why haven't they returned? And still, what are we going to tell your parents?"

* * *

Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen with looks of apprehension on their faces. They went directly to the table and sat down. Mr. Weasley was buried behind a copy of the Daily Prophet, his free hand searching aimlessly for the cup of coffee just inches from his finger tips. "Morning, children," he said automatically. Bill smiled at them both and nodded, as he reached for a platter of bacon. Fleur was next to him, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth and picking at her breakfast with a fork.

Ron pulled a plate from a stack and began filling it with food from large serving dishes laid out across the table.

Mrs. Weasley looked over at them from the kitchen stove, smiling. She looked expectantly at the sitting room door and spoke, "What's keeping Harry and Ginny? Aren't they right behind you, dears?"

Ron conveniently shoveled a fork full of food into his mouth just at that moment and shrugged in response to Hermione's elbow and pleading face. With Mrs. Weasley's questioning gaze upon her, Hermione stammered, "Um… well… you see… Harry and Ginny aren't coming to breakfast…" Mr. Weasley lowered his newspaper suddenly and fixed an expectant look upon the already uncomfortable Hermione. "… Because… you see… they… they aren't here."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous Hermione, of course they're here," Mrs. Weasley said dismissively. "Harry, Ginny!" she called suddenly at the top of her voice, looking up at the ceiling. "Come down to breakfast!"

"No, Mum, Hermione's right," Ron said, finding his voice after a thick swallow. "We think they've gone to Harry's house."

"Harry's house?" Mr. Weasley said, becoming increasingly distressed. "Grimmauld Place? Why and how would they get there?"

"No, Dad, not Grimmauld Place, Harry's house… Potter Manor."

"Potter Manor?" said Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, nearly in unison.

* * *

A sense of panic was now pervading the kitchen as Ron and Hermione were questioned repeatedly. Mr. Weasley had insisted on contacting Grimmauld Place, which had brought Moody, Lupin, and Tonks hurriedly to The Burrow. For perhaps the third time Ron and Hermione were explaining about opening the lock box the night before and finding the _Portis Omnibus_. But, having an idea of where Harry and Ginny had gone didn't seem to calm any of the others particularly.

Moody kept going on about foolishness and irresponsibility; Mr. Weasley kept agreeing, but looked a bit more worried than upset. Lupin was examining the small polished box closely, and Tonks kept coming up with more questions to ask of Ron and Hermione, rooting out every small detail she could think of. But they simply didn't know when Harry and Ginny had gone.

Mrs. Weasley, Fleur and Bill, after searching Ron and Ginny's rooms, concluded that the only things missing were Harry, Ginny, and the night clothes they were wearing, which seemed to particularly agitate Mr. Weasley.

The whole scene in the kitchen was rapidly deteriorating into a heated argument about what exactly was to be done.

A small voice cleared its throat near the Pantry. "Eh hem." And though the sound was not particularly intrusive it none-the-less captured everyone's attention immediately.

The whole group, suddenly silent, turned to see the very peculiar sight of a clothed House-Elf standing just inside The Burrow kitchen, before the pantry door, which was filled with a bright lattice of blue light.

The elf casually ran a finger along the under edge of the kitchen counter and looked disdainfully at the dust left on his finger tip. Then, realizing that he had everyone's attention, he smiled broadly. "Master Harry bids you all join him for a late breakfast," Jarvy announced.

"Master Harry?" Ron repeated breaking into a low chuckle.

Hermione, elbowed Ron in to silence, and standing, gave voice to everyone's question. "And… You are?"

"Jarphred, Chief Manor-Elf of the House of Potter. You may call me Jarvy." The elf bowed low to the surprised company. Jarvy then turned a crisp half turn and gestured to the pantry doorway, bidding them silently to enter.

Moody found his voice. "Now, I'm not so sure we should be trusting some strange House-Elf… constant vigil-"

Tonks cut him off mid proclamation, "Oh, don't be ridiculous Alastor, some things are exactly what they seem." She was up from the table, pulling Remus by the hand, and, smiling at the elf, stepped into the web of light.

Ron smiled at Hermione and taking her hand in his, followed Tonks and Lupin through the door.

* * *

The small group of awed witches and wizards stood huddled in a group in the broad hall, with the fresco of Merlin smiling down upon them.

Jarvy was the last through the door and he shut it silently behind him, removing the polished brass knob and replacing it with a polished ivory one with a snap of his fingers. He turned to the group and said, "If you would all please follow," before proceeding down the hall briskly.

Jarvy lead them down the hall and into the entry where the large portrait of Deyton and Philomena Potter stood. He had to hurry them a few times as they were walking a bit slowly, talking in whispers, and pointing at the frescos above and the various decorative appointments of the hall.

He led them to the portrait and introduced them. "Master Harry's grandparents, Deyton and Philomena Potter, welcome you to Potter Manor." There were polite introductions all around and each guest was formally greeted by the two beaming figures in the portrait, Remus, receiving special attention, as the only one of them to have met the elder Potters while they were alive.

"Now, if you will follow me, I will take you directly to Master Harry," Jarvy said.

As the group followed the elf away, Philomena addressed Molly Weasley from the portrait. "Molly?" Mrs. Weasley turned; the others didn't seem to notice and were proceeding away. "I do hope I may call you Molly?"

"Of course, Mrs. Potter," Molly responded.

"Oh, please call me Philomena… I wonder if I might have a word with you… without the others?"

"Yes, yes of course Philomena," Molly said a bit curiously.

* * *

The bright sunlight had woken Ginny slowly from a contented, comfortable sleep. She reached out, hoping to find herself still leaning against Harry, but found a deep, soft mattress and thick comforter as far as she could reach on either side. She sat up and opened her eyes.

The room was bright, the high walls covered in cream-colored silken wallpaper. The lush furnishings were white with gold trim, the curtains and hangings were of various shades of wheat and yellow. She was in a huge four-poster bed and heard water running somewhere nearby. She didn't know if the sound was new or she just hadn't registered it before then.

Crawling from the bed she followed the sound, marveling at the lovely room and the thickness of the soft carpet beneath her feet. She came through a large dressing room with deep alcoves lining one wall, opposite a beautiful Victorian dressing table. She found a water closet just beyond in a short hallway and finally located the source of the running water as she stepped into an octagonal room with a deep sunken bath set in its center.

She didn't hesitate to remove her pajamas and slip into the warm water. When she emerged refreshed and clean from the scented, bubbling, water she found a warm towel on a stand and wrapped herself in it.

Back in the dressing room she sat at the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. To her mild surprise a brush and comb leapt from the table and on their own began to brush her hair. A sudden rush of warmth dried it and soon various ribbons and jeweled clasps had managed to appear from drawers and joined together to do her hair up in a beautiful lattice of binding silver/white ribbon, and flowing red ringlets. She smiled at herself.

She got up and turned to discover a beautiful pale blue silk and velvet dress floating out of one of the alcoves; behind it a set of silver/blue, laced over-robes bobbed on a second hanger. A drawer of silks opened in a nearby wardrobe and lace slippers stepped over by themselves. Ginny drew her hand across the soft fabrics gleefully.

As she dressed she wondered if Harry was experiencing the same sort of morning.

* * *

Harry sat quietly on the pristine patio, just outside the drawing room in which, only the night before, he had learned so much about his family and met, through their portraits, the grandparents he had never even dreamed of having.

Jarvy had served him a breakfast of toast and a soft-boiled egg in a silver egg cup. He hadn't touched it. He felt odd in his, he thought, overly formal slacks and pressed shirt, with dress robes. He had declined the vest, starched collar and bow-tie when they had bobbed toward him from the closet in the dressing room, off the elaborate bedchamber he had awoken in. He had to admit, though, that it was much better than facing the Weasleys still wearing his pajamas from the night before.

He had been worrying about the reaction Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would have to the fact that he and Ginny had been away and alone all night, from the moment he had roused that morning. And, he was overwhelmed by the discovery of his family history and the elaborate Potter Manor. His mind was a blur of questions and emotion.

He tried to sort his mind and wished that he had the Dumbledore card at hand to solicit its opinion. With a deep sigh a line from his grandparents' letter came to him. _Know that your grandmother and I have done all of this out of love for you… to give you the greatest advantage possible in facing what you must face_.

And there it was… the undeniable truth that, despite all of this discovery, despite the wonder of this place, despite the revelation that he was of a truly noble wizarding family… his fate was irrevocably tied to the life of the most feared and horrible wizard ever known. His destiny was wrapped up with Lord Voldemort and he just couldn't allow himself the luxury of looking beyond that.

He crossed to the stone patio railing and looked out across a swan-filled reflecting pool to a great clearing surrounded by dense forest. There was movement there, and looking closer he could see a herd of deer grazing on the succulent grass shoots of the open meadow. Doe were feasting, ever aware of their surroundings, their heads popping up to look to and fro. Harry thought of Moody, "ever vigilant" in the fight against dark magic. There were many fawns prancing joyfully about and Harry was struck that this was the very sort of peace he was destined to sacrifice his life, if need be, to protect. He pictured in his mind the faces of all those he had come to love, Hermione, Ron, Lupin, the Weasleys, the members of the Order, Neville and Luna and other friends from Hogwarts… and of course Ginny.

Harry sighed again, momentarily unsure of himself. And then another movement far in the distance caught his eye. It was a huge stag, strutting majestically at the edge of the forest, strolling out to survey its charges in the meadow. It turned, and though Harry knew it to be impossible given the distance, he swore that the stag met his gaze. In an instant the stag shook its huge head and the whole herd leapt from the meadow to the cool cover of the forest. The stag remained, turning slowly, despite real or imagined danger, and strolled back into the shadows of the trees, disappearing entirely.  
Harry knew then, that he was where he belonged, and that he would do whatever was required of him to protect his friends and his world from the twisted, greedy, ruthless desires of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort.

Ginny embraced him from behind pressing her head to his shoulder. He had not heard her come out onto the patio, but he was filled with joy at her presence. He turned and held her at arms length, taking in her beauty in the gorgeous robes.

"Good morning," she said. Harry held her by one hand as she turned to show off her dress and robes, and he smiled wide.

"Not exactly my usual comfort wear, but it will do, don't you think?" she said, playfully.

Harry looked at her hungrily. "Yeah… I guess its okay," he teased.

Ginny smiled at him, blushing, and cuddled up close to his chest. "You are looking quite dapper yourself, 'Master' Potter," she grinned.

Harry reached up and raised her chin gently with his hand; his eyes met hers and everything was forgotten as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers. Her arms slid up beneath his to his back and she deepened the embrace and the kiss.

When they broke apart a minute later, "Good morning, Ginny," was all Harry could think to say.

Ginny blushed and giggled as she turned to the finely set patio table, her eyes fixed on a porcelain coffee service, and Harry's untouched egg and toast. "Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

"I wasn't," Harry replied, as Ginny helped herself to his toast and poured out a cup of coffee. "I'll eat when your parents arrive. Jarvy has gone to bring them."

Ginny stopped still, a sudden look of panic coming upon her. She dropped the toast and swallowed hard. "Oh Merlin… My parents! They're not going to be happy, Harry."

Harry couldn't help grinning at her, dressed beautifully in her formal dress, one foot up in the chair under her, a bit of jam at the corner of her mouth and the fearful look on her face at the mention of her parents' arrival. He crossed to her, picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed the jam from her mouth. "It will be fine," he said. "Eat my breakfast."

Ginny smiled again, the fear disappearing, and reached to finish the toast.

Just then there was a clamor of voices inside the drawing room.

Hermione appeared at the doorway followed closely by Ron. "Harry, it's magnificent," she said.

"Better than magnificent, mate, it's bloody brilliant," Ron added enthusiastically.

Next to appear was Tonks, dragging a thoroughly delighted-looking Lupin by the hand, followed by an awed-looking Fleur, leading a smiling Bill. Tonks caught her toe on the door jam, and would have fallen had it not been for Lupin's hand in hers. "Wotcher, Harry," came her familiar greeting, "quite the digs you've been hiding."

"Oh, I haven't been hiding… I just discovered…." Harry stammered.

"She's just teasing, Harry," Bill interrupted. "We know very well that you didn't know about any of this." Fleur did a turn in place, taking in the bright patio. "But you might have given us some warning before you ventured off on your own. And, I expect dad is none to happy that you brought Ginny with you."

Lupin glanced at Ginny and gave her a fatherly, yet understanding, look.

"I know… I'm sorry about that. None of it was planned." Harry looked at his feet awkwardly.

Ginny, set her coffee cup down. "I didn't give him a choice," she said, a little defensively.

"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked, a hint of determination rising in his voice.

"They're here," Tonks said, smiling, still looking about a bit in awe. "So's  
Moody."

Jarvy stepped through the patio door at that moment. "Your guests have arrived, Master Harry. Shall Jarvy serve breakfast here on the patio?"

Harry smiled at the elf. "Yes please, Jarvy."

Ron's face brightened at the prospect of food.

With a snap of Jarvy's fingers the patio table cleared itself and filled with a selection of steaming silver serving trays making the whole table a spectacular buffet.

Harry smiled. "Well, I hope at least you're all hungry?"

Ron crossed to get a plate and started filling it.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, you just ate at The Burrow."

"And?" Ron said, as he popped a sausage in his mouth with a delighted expression.

As everyone started moving toward the table, Harry stepped toward the patio door. "Thank you, Jarvy," he said as he passed the excited-looking elf.

In the sitting room, Moody and Arthur Weasley were standing near a cluster of chairs, talking in rather hushed tones. Harry crossed toward them. Neither man looked particularly happy.

Moody's magical eye found Harry first. He turned as Harry approached. "Totally irresponsible, Potter, wandering to an unknown place on your own right now." His gravelly voice sounded disappointed.

"Yes." Harry conceded the point. "But I am certain sir, this place is completely safe."

"We shall have to make certain of that," Moody croaked back.

"Alastor, could I have a word with Harry?" Arthur spoke, "Alone." Mr. Weasley's tone was grave and Harry could feel the disappointment in his words and in his stance.

Moody looked from Arthur to Harry. "Very well," he said, "I'll join the others on the patio."

"I'm very sorry sir," Harry said as he stepped up to Mr. Weasley, his expression apologetic, "It all just happened… and I didn't intent to spend the night… and…"

Arthur Weasley raised his hand to silence Harry. "Harry," he paused, exhaling heavily, "I thought I made clear my concerns about your seeing my daughter, and now first thing you wander away with her to an unknown place – and you spend the night away, and alone." His eyes were intent on Harry's and his voice was growing louder, a finger raised menacingly.

"Arthur!" Molly Weasley's voice carried across the room from the doorway where she was stepping into the room. "You will not be upset with Harry. I've just had a nice talk with Mrs. Potter and she explained that the kids simply fell asleep. Harry is not at fault and they were properly chaperoned the entire time."

"But, Molly, still they should have told us they were leaving," Arthur rebutted his wife.

"True, but under the circumstances I think a little understanding is in order," Molly replied.

Harry stood there as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged looks that he knew were filled with some sort of understanding based on a long, loving relationship.

"Harry, dear, you go on and join the others and don't you worry about last night." Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "I would like a quick word with my husband."

"Yes Ma'am," Harry responded confusedly and turned away to return to the patio, feeling a bit as though he had been saved, but not really understanding why.

Out on the patio, the others had filled their plates and were happily eating between comments about their surroundings. Ron and Hermione were sitting with Ginny in happy conversation. Tonks, Lupin, Bill and Fleur were together at the opposite end of the table, and Moody was in a chair talking intently with Jarphred.

Ginny got up and crossed to Harry hurriedly, slipping her hand in his, looking concerned. "Was dad hard on you?"

"No actually… he wasn't," Harry responded, "Your mother stopped him."

"Mom?" Ginny now looked confused. "Well, I'll tell them I made you bring me."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Harry squeezed her hand in his.

"So, what are we going to do about this place?" Moody's voice broke the moment.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"I mean, from what this elf tells me this whole place has been hidden from the world since nineteen twenty. But, I still think this could all be a trick of the Dark Lord."

"Nonsense," Lupin interjected, "Voldemort has tried some elaborate schemes, but this is too much to set up. He hasn't had the time."

"I'm certain this is all exactly what it appears to be," Harry responded.

"Of course you are, Harry, which would be exactly the point." Moody said dismissively. "If this place is hidden from the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds by, what would have to be the most complex and powerful Fidelius charm in all of history, it would have to be held in place by a secret keeper… So, just who is the secret keeper?" The whole group was taken back by the question and thrust into silence – including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who had appeared in the doorway.

"I am," Jarphred stated, rather quietly.

Moody turned on the little elf, who stepped back reflexively. "Impossible!" Moody stepped forward menacingly. "An elf can't be a secret keeper. A secret keeper has to have a free will, and an elf's will is bound to its Master's."

Jarphred stepped back further, clearly afraid of the larger man and looking suddenly a bit ashamed. "Moody!" Harry's voice was strong and clear. "Leave Jarvy alone, he's not part of some plot."

Moody spun around to face Harry, his scarred face a study in angry concern. "How can you be so sure?" he said gruffly.

"I don't know – I just am, and you'll have to take my word for it!" Harry retorted, his voice rising in response.

Lupin was up from his spot at the table his hand on Moody's shoulder pulling the older man back. "As there seems to be no immediate threat to any of us here, perhaps we should give Jarphred an opportunity to explain himself."

All eyes were riveted on the little elf, as he gulped nervously. "Master Harry, is the Master of this house, but he is not my Master. Jarvy is a free elf." Jarvy gestured to his clothes. "Jarvy was made free by Deyton Potter, in order to become the secret keeper. No will commands him but his own." Jarvy looked thoroughly ashamed at having to explain himself. He rushed forward to Harry and fell to his knees. "Please do not ask Jarvy to leave your service sir, Jarvy is sorry to dishonor you with his freedom, Jarvy is sworn to serve your family of his own free will. Jarvy will never betray you!" Great tears were welling in the elf's large eyes as he looked to Harry pleadingly.

Harry glanced around, his eyes falling finally on Hermione, the one person in the room beside himself with no lifetime indoctrination toward the servitude of House-elves. He did not need to say anything. She was up from her seat quickly and coming to his aid.

Hermione knelt next to Harry taking Jarvy by the shoulders and pulling him to his feet. Her voice was gentle, full of kindness. "Jarvy, there is no dishonor in what you have done… in fact it honors us all that you care enough to serve from your heart," Hermione paused. She looked up at Harry, her concerned expression becoming a smile. "Harry would never make you leave.

Jarphred looked back to Harry his eyes wide. "No, Jarvy, I will never make you leave," Harry assured him.

"That's all well and good, Harry," Moody interrupted again, "But we still haven't determined the security of this place."

Harry paused, looking from Jarphred around the patio, his eyes coming to rest finally on Moody who still looked as though Death Eaters might appear at any moment. "I'm convinced that the Manor is nothing more that what it appears to be. My inheritance, my house, and I'm staying."

"No, you're not," Moody growled. "Not until I'm convinced that it's safe."

"Talk to my Grandfather's portrait, I'm sure that he can provide all the answers to all your questions," Harry snarled back, his voice tense with rising anger.

"How about a compromise," Lupin suggested, stepping into the space between them. Everyone looked at him, questioningly. "Harry, you're not of age yet, not until your birthday." Harry began to protest, but Lupin gestured for him to wait. "So, until your birthday, or until Moody is satisfied, you may explore this house during the day, accompanied of course by an adult wizard - someone of us here, I suppose - and you will spend your nights at The Burrow."

Harry was silent, his temper urging him to protest. But the slight pressure of Ginny's hand in his made him think the situation through. "Okay," he said finally.

Lupin turned to Moody. "Well?" he said rather insistently.

"Agreed," Moody said, somewhat reluctantly.

* * *

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**NEXT**

Chapter Twelve

**Ministry Mayhem**


	13. Ministry Mayhem

Chapter Twelve

**Ministry Mayhem**

It had been eight days since Harry and Ginny had unintentionally spent the night at Potter Manor. Harry had decided that he rather missed the deep feather bed. The camp cot he had woken in this morning creaked loudly as he twisted beneath his covers and pressed his head to the pillow hoping to capture a few more minutes of sleep. His mind was already clearing and he knew he would be fully awake in a matter of moments so, getting up was the only real alternative.

As he made his way down the hall to the water closet, it hit him; just what he had to do today, and a mild sense of foreboding came over him. Today was the day he was to meet with Minister Scrimgeour. It also happened to be Ginny's first day of OWL testing so they would be heading off to the Ministry immediately after Breakfast. He would have liked to go with Mr. Weasley and Ginny, but he knew that security would be an issue and Mad-eye Moody would have made some other arrangements.

Upon return to Ron's room he gave the corner of Ron's bed a quick kick, at which Ron popped up to a sitting position and muttered "M'up, I'm up," and promptly fell back against his pillow into a full snore.

Harry dressed quickly and then made sure that Ron truly was awake before heading down to breakfast.

In the kitchen, as had happened every morning since the discovery of the Manor he found both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seated at the table enjoying a leisurely breakfast, served by Jarvy, who had insisted upon coming to The Burrow every day to see that "Master Harry" was well fed and cared for. At first, there had been a delicate struggle between Mrs. Weasley and Jarvy, as Molly had not wanted to give over meal preparation to the elf. However, eventually, as she realized that she could use the time to help with wedding preparations, and attend Bill, she had relinquished the kitchen, still somewhat reluctantly, to the insistent elf.

Harry had barely tucked into his breakfast when Ron shuffled into the kitchen groggily, followed by a characteristically chipper Hermione, and a frowning Ginny. Hermione was reciting a passage from some textbook, at Ginny, as she had done almost constantly all week in preparation for Ginny's tests.

"Morning, children," came Mr. Weasley's automatic greeting, as they each found their seats around the table. "We've about an hour before we have to leave for the Ministry," Mr. Weasley stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, my goodness, so soon?" Hermione responded, as she stood back up, nearly in a panic. "I'll run and get your transfiguration text, Ginny; we'll just have time to go over your fifth year spells tables one last time."

"Please, Hermione let's not," Ginny said as she gripped her coffee mug tightly. "I've had all the study I can take."

Hermione sat back down reluctantly. "Okay… I guess we've done enough preparation," she said, barely hidden disappointment shown across her face.

In fact, in the past eight days Hermione had had Ginny in a state of almost constant study, so much so that Ginny had not even returned once with Harry to the Manor, when Lupin had come, as promised, to take Harry for exploration visits to his family home.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley was speaking through his morning paper. "As a security precaution, Moody would like you to floo to _Grimmauld Place_ as soon as you're ready, and he'll accompany you to the Ministry for your Meeting with the Minister."

"Yeah, and I'll bet you'll be flooing all over Britain before you land at the Ministry, mate," Ron added between bites of toast with marmalade.

Harry chuckled at the comment, but the atmosphere at the table remained subdued for the Weasley home. Even the happily offered food from Jarvy, hovering about the kitchen did little to lighten the mood.

After finishing his breakfast, Harry excused himself to return to Ron's room where he consulted briefly with the Dumbledore card. They had discussed the impending meeting a number of times during the past eight days, and Harry was confident that he knew what he had to do, but Dumbledore's always-thoughtful reassurance was still a help.

Upon his return from the Manor eight days past, Harry had written a letter to the Minister agreeing to meet with him. Rufus Scrimgeour, he knew would not be put off indefinitely. Now in less than an hour he would be meeting with the Minister.

Harry tucked away the card and base safely in his trunk and headed down the stairs to the sitting room.

Mr. Weasley and Ginny were ready to depart for the Ministry. Bill and Fleur had come down for breakfast now and everyone was wishing Ginny good luck with her exams.

"Harry, you had better get going," Mr. Weasley called as Harry crossed from the stairs. "If I know Alastor, he's getting quite anxious by now."

Harry crossed to the fireplace where everyone was standing, Bill and Fleur moved aside knowingly to clear the path to Ginny. Harry stepped right up to Ginny and took her hands in his. "Good luck with your OWLs Ginny," Harry smiled at her.

"Good luck with the Minister, Harry," Ginny smirked back. "Wanna trade?"

"No," Harry chuckled along with everyone else. "I've already done my OWLs," He said, "I suspect what I have to do this morning is a bit easier." He grinned looking deep into Ginny's eyes. Her clear return gaze told him she knew he wanted to kiss her, and if not for her family all around them, would have pulled her into a firm hug. She stood to her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek.

"You'd better go." She said. Harry reluctantly released her hands and turned to the fireplace. Harry took a handful of floo powder from the canister Mrs. Weasley was offering and stepped into the grate. Waving a silent goodbye to his surrogate family, he tossed the powder to his feet, spoke "Grimmauld Place" in a strong clear voice, and swirled away in a burst of green flame.

* * *

The dingy kitchen at Grimmauld Place had not changed much since he had last seen it. It was a bit cleaner perhaps, but still the same dark cavernous stone room. As he stepped from the grate, Lupin got up from the kitchen table to greet him. "Finally, Harry. You made it. Alastor was starting to worry." Harry took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry muttered.

"Moony." Lupin corrected. "Harry, call me Moony, or Remus, but not, Sir. Remember you agreed?" Lupin smiled warmly and released Harry's hand. Harry smiled in return.

There were a number of people in the room, most of whom Harry recognized as members of the order, though there were a few he had never met before. His eyes landed on a woman at the far end of the table, a woman he recognized immediately and was very surprised to see there.

Imani Nowell, the _Daily Prophet_ reporter stood as she noticed Harry's recognition. She crossed to him and offered her hand. "Very good to see you again Mr. Potter," she said. Harry shook her hand silently, and looked to Moony questioningly.

"It's perfectly alright Harry," Lupin said reassuringly, "Miss Nowell is a member of the Order, one of many new recruits. She has been very valuable at helping us both feed information to and receive information through _The Prophet_."

"You need not worry about my status as a reporter Mr. Potter," she said, "as with all members of the order I have submitted to certain magical vows of secrecy… Though I still want to collect on your promised interview?"

"Of course," Harry smiled.

"And you shall, Imani." The gruff voice of Alastor Moody preceded him through the kitchen door. "In fact, you may get your opportunity yet today after Harry has his meeting with the Minister." Moody lumbered toward them and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Well, boy, we'd best be off if we expect to get you to the Ministry in time."

Harry nodded to Moody, "Good to see you again Miss Nowell, and please call me Harry," he said as Moody guided him toward the door.

"Good luck," Lupin said as Harry and Moody disappeared into the hall.

As they headed up the stone steps toward the main hall Harry asked, "Are we going to Apparate to the Ministry? I somehow thought we might just floo there directly?"

"No Harry," Moody said as he reached the main hall and turned toward the front of the house. "We aren't traveling by any means any Wizard would expect, wouldn't be secure to be predictable." They moved quietly down the hall, past the curtained portrait of Mrs. Black, and right out the front door.

The sun was bright and warm on the front stoop as Harry stood for a moment letting his eyes adjust. Moody, took his elbow and hurried him down the steps and through the front gate. As they moved along the walk, Harry noted, absently, that many of the homes around the little square had undergone considerable repair since his last visit almost two years before. Still, it was clear as they made their way toward the miserable little Under-ground station, that the area was far from the nicest part of London.

The run-down streets were completely deserted, until they neared the station where a few Muggles were coming and going. Harry, assuming they were going by train, as he had done with Mr. Weasley before, turned toward the station, but Moody caught his arm and stopped him at the curb. Moody hailed a cab as though he had done it a hundred times before, and soon they were rattling down the roadway in an old, black, London taxi.

It was a short drive to central London and Harry began to recognize the streets from years before. The taxi rattled down the road with the single pub, and shabby offices, past the still over-flowing dumpster toward the red telephone box that Harry knew was the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Harry reached for the door handle in anticipation, but then turned to Moody in confusion as the taxi passed the lonely disheveled landmark and turned the corner. They passed a stone and wrought iron topped wall and turned again down a narrow road with recessed doorways and sunken windows. They came to a stop finally in front of a long brick wall, which impressed Harry with its marked lack of graffiti.

Moody produced a few Muggle notes from the pocket of his leather coat to pay the fare, and the cab rattled away, leaving them standing on the narrow sidewalk. Harry glanced up and down the road, which was entirely unremarkable. The buildings were tall and close and nothing broke the lines of the walk but an occasional no-parking sign and a dingy forgotten blue police box; toward which Mad-Eye was already moving. Harry followed.

The blue paint on the solitary booth was faded and flaking and the small windows along the top had been broken out. An orange tape was stretched across the door which read "out of service" in large black letters, and a small official looking note had been pasted to the side which said that the box was scheduled for removal, but the portion with the removal date was torn away.

Moody ripped away the tape and pulled the door open, ushering Harry into the small space. The booth was completely empty; everything that once occupied the small space had been removed leaving obvious blank spaces. Questions about what they were doing here were burning in Harry's mind, but he decided that he wasn't sure he needed to know the answers.

Moody, turned and tapped the closed door with his wand, muttering a spell beneath his breath which Harry didn't catch. There was a faint, momentary illumination around the edges of the door and Harry felt a lurch in his stomach, as though he had suddenly dropped several feet and been thrust up again. Moody pressed the door open.

"Hold!" came a loud, shouted command, from outside the police box, startling Harry. The door swung open to reveal a group of alert and anxious looking Wizards, all with their wands out, all pointed at the open door.

Moody stepped forward slowly. "Alastor Moody, former Ministry Auror," Mad-Eye said, as he moved from the dark Police box into the light of the room. There was a tense few moments as the group stood silent, wands leveled at Mad-Eye.

"Welcome, Alastor," Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice broke the palpable silence. "I've been expecting you." He turned to the room full of Aurors. "Wands down everyone," he said.

Harry stepped out of the dark box to the curious stares of the Aurors. He glanced back to see the door he had emerged from was a broom cupboard.

"No one has used that emergency entrance in years, Alastor," Kingsley spoke as he lead them across the lounge into an adjoining room, which Harry recognized as the interior of the Auror's offices of the Ministry. "Most of this lot, didn't even know it was there," he said, motioning back toward the bewildered looking group of young Aurors in the room.

Kingsley led them through the tightly packed maze of cubicles toward the front of the Headquarters where they stopped at a small desk. "We can do your security check here and issue you visitor's badges." He motioned to a small desk which sat just inside the main doors. A cleanly shaven neatly dressed young man sat at the desk examining what looked to Harry like a _Remembrall_, though the smoke inside the glass sphere was a brilliant teal.

There was a broader space between this desk and the first row of cubicles, which formed a short hall toward a set of double doors. Gilded letters on the double doors read, "Head of Auror's," and beneath these words was a brass placard with the name Gawain Robards.

"Morning, Hamlish," Shaklebolt said to the man as they approached. The Auror at the desk quickly set down the small device and retrieved a thin, golden Dark Magic Detector from the top desk drawer. He stood up and stepped to the side of the desk, motioning for Harry to stand on a spot next to him.

"Quite a morning we're havin' in' it?" the younger man said to Shaklebolt. "Morning, Mr. Potter, Mr. Moody," he added quickly acknowledging, Harry and Mad-Eye. He swept the DMD along Harry, front and back, and then held out his hand. Harry took this to be a request for his wand, recalling the security check from his visit to the Ministry on the morning of his hearing two years before, and handed it over. This was obviously the correct response as the man set it on what looked like a small kitchen scale and a moment later a small slip of paper issued forth from the base of the thing.

"Heard about the to-do this morning, with the raids?" The man continued to try to engage Shaklebolt in conversation as he evaluated Harry's wand. Kingsley made no response. "The field team reported they broke the wards on a Death Eater hideout, sounds like they may have uncovered some real valuable information."

The man handed Harry back his wand, and a square silver badge which read "Harry Potter, meeting." He then motioned Harry back and Moody forward to repeat the process.

"And I heard you had an interesting morning yourself, Kingsley? Can't wonder what the Minister is thinking having you bring that Muggle into the Ministry?"

Moody snatched his wand and badge from the young man and grumbled audibly. "Hamlish?" he questioned out loud, causing the man to look directly at him. "Your father wouldn't be Augustus Hamlish?"

The younger man stood a bit straighter and replied, "Yes sir."

"Humph," Moody looked him up and down, his magical eye focusing on him as well. "Makes sense, ole' Gussie always talked too much too." Moody turned toward the main doors leaving the suddenly silent man in his wake. Kingsley chuckled aloud as he motioned for Harry to follow and pushed through the doors in to the polished hallway outside the Auror offices.

They walked silently till they reached the lifts and then Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "So… There has been Death Eater activity?"

Kingsley glanced at Moody, and received an almost imperceptible nod, before turning back to Harry. "Yes, Harry, there have not been any deaths or disappearances since… well, since Dumbledore's murder. But the Death Eater's are definitely still out there and the Auror's are looking for them."

Harry nodded quietly, as the lift door rattled open and they stepped in. A moment later he spoke again. "And… You brought a Muggle into the Ministry this morning?"

Kingsley chuckled again. "Yes, Harry, I did." Seeing that this simple response only elicited more questions in Harry, Shaklebolt continued. "I've been, well, sort of a liaison to the Muggle Prime Minister for over a year now as the activities of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, have been having an effect on the Muggle world. And at the request of the Muggle Minister, we have accepted a kind of observer, a rather interesting Muggle, as a matter-of-fact." The lift halted with a clank, and they stepped off into another polished hall. "I expect you'll learn all about it in due course, but right now, I suggest you concentrate on your meeting with Minister Scrimgeour."

Harry nodded silently. He wanted to ask more questions, but Kingsley was right he needed to remember what he was there for, so he tried to refocus his thoughts as they moved down the sparsely populated hall.

As they turned down a final hallway, Harry could see a very prim; rather sever looking young Witch sitting at a desk. When she noticed them she leaned down briefly and touched something which she appeared to speak into. Two young men in Ministry Security uniforms stood to attention on either side of the hall. The Witch motioned Harry and his escorts forward.

Kingsley stepped up to the broad, thick, oak door of the Minister's office, just as it opened. Rufus Scrimgeour stood in the doorway waving them inward, and stepping back.

Harry moved forward with determined calm and entered the office. Moody followed him in, but Kingsley remained in the outer office as the Minister quietly shut the door.

Scrimgeour's office was a formal room befitting his station. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with books and pictures, mementos of accomplishment and objects that Harry recognized as similar to magical devices he had seen in other offices; Dumbledore's, Snape's, and the various occupants of the DADA office over the years.

Rufus Scrimgeour moved toward a wall where several glasses and bottles rested on a low shelf. "May I offer you something?" he said, "a butter-beer perhaps, Mr. Potter or, pumpkin juice?" The Minister proceeded to pour a generous amount of an amber liquid into two glasses, from a stoppered crystal decanter. Then he grabbed a bottle from a lower shelf, opened it, and with his wand sent the bottle floating toward Harry, the second glass toward Moody.

Something about the Minister seemed different to Harry. He was an imposing figure, dressed in his black robes, his mane of tawny, graying hair hardly tamed about his face, fierceness in his eyes. But, he seemed tired in his movements, and this cordial manner, offering drinks, it somehow felt like a different Minister than Harry had encountered before.

Harry looked at Moody who was holding his glass up at arms length, examining it. Moody brought the glass to his lips and sipped at it. He smiled then, and took a larger draught. Harry sniffed at the bottle in his hand, and detecting nothing but the smooth scent of butter-beer, took a deep swig as he stepped to the chair to which the Minister was motioning.

Scrimgeour moved around his desk, exhaling deeply. He took a slow draw from his drink and sat in his deep leather chair. He eyed Harry for a moment before setting his glass down and leaning forward. "Harry," he began, "May I call you Harry?" Harry nodded. "Harry, we two have gotten off on the wrong foot, I believe." Harry set his bottle up on the edge of the desk. "The fact is, like it or not, the Wizarding world believes you to be the chosen one." Harry nodded again. "They therefore are looking to you for some form of guidance. Guidance I suspect you are feeling somewhat unprepared to offer." It hadn't really been a question, and Harry was not inclined to respond, as the Minister paused. "I on the other hand," Scrimgeour continued, "I'm in the position to offer guidance and leadership to Wizarding Britain. My biggest problem however, to state it matter-of-factly, Harry, is you."

Harry was slightly taken aback, but made no expression; he leaned back in his chair. There was a quiet disapproving "harrumph" from Alastor Moody, standing behind him. Harry waited a moment to see if there was comment to come from Mad-eye, but when a moment had passed, he looked directly to the Minister, reached for his butter-beer, and said, "How so Minister?"

Rufus Scrimgeour leaned back, steepled his fingers and looked assessingly at Harry. "Because dear boy, you assume that I am merely another Fudge." There was a long pause as Scrimgeour drew in his breath. "I can assure you that I am not. I have never doubted your story, nor as head of the Aurors, did I ever doubt that He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named would one day return." There was another pause, as the Minister seemed to be considering how much to say. "And, now that I am in a position to help the Wizarding world combat this dreadful evil, I find myself surrounded by an ineffectual, woefully compounded bureaucracy, and mistrusted by the very person all of Wizarding Britain is looking to, to save them." The Minister took up his glass again and drained the remaining amber liquid. He set the glass down on the desk with a thud. "The truth is Harry; we are at war. Even though, so far only small skirmishes have been fought, it would be folly to think that larger scale battles can be entirely avoided. I want you to help me win this war. I don't pretend to fully understand your role in all this, but only a fool could look at the events that have surrounded your life and think that it is all merely coincidence."

Moody shifted his weight, making a soft, but somehow menacing "thud" with his prosthetic leg. The Minister glanced at him momentarily, but only cocked an eyebrow slightly before returning to Harry determinedly. "I understand that the Ministry, under Cornelius Fudge, gave you plenty of reason to mistrust it, and as Dumbledore declined to work with me, you have persistently done the same. But I am here to tell you boy. The time has come to wake up and realize that 'Chosen One' or not, you have a role to play and you cannot do it all by yourself."

Harry stared at the edge of the Minister's desk, memories of his previous meetings with the Minister swirling through his mind as he listened to the Minister's words. There was a hint of frustration, and perhaps even anger beneath. "Dumbledore's man," Harry said in what he thought was not much more than a whisper.

"Yes, exactly, Dumbledore's man," the Minister said, exasperated. "So you have said." There was another long pause, before the Minister spoke again. "Harry, I am not asking you to tell me any of Dumbledore's secrets, frankly, I don't much care what he was up to, beyond it's bearing on defeating the Dark Lord. But I must insist that you wake up and accept that we have a common enemy, Merlin, boy, the war is here, and we are ill prepared."

Harry looked at the Minister wanting to hate and distrust the man, but despite his emotions he could see that before him was a man of conviction. Scrimgeour wanted to fight this war, and he wanted to win it. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, part of him knew that whatever his part finally was, he would have to do it alone, but the Minister was correct that they did have a common enemy. This war was much larger than Harry avenging his parent's murders; he knew that in his heart, even if it was that anger that still drove him forward. Harry was still unsure and so he grasped at his only arguments. "How can I trust a Ministry that imprisons Stanley Shunpike, and employs a woman like Dolores Umbridge?" Harry rubbed the scars on his right hand at the distasteful memory of the unpleasant woman.

The Minister leaned forward and fixed an irritated gaze upon Harry. His voice was hard and flat as he spoke again. "Everyone tells me you are a smart boy, inclined to mischief, but intelligent and resourceful. I am afraid all I am seeing right now is a child, and I am gravely disappointed."

The words stung Harry; he felt his cheeks flush as though he had been slapped, and he looked down from the minister's steady stare. Moody leaned forward as though he might say something but stopped as the Minister held up a hand.

Still watching Harry closely, the Minister persisted, his voice rising steadily. "What matter are these small things in the face of the true conflict before us?" Harry fought back his reacting temper and looked up into the Minister's eyes, as Scrimgeour raised an accusing finger. "I tell you, Harry, once, and only once, _Imperiused _or not, there was good reason for Stanley Shunpike's arrest. And, Dolores Umbridge, while a wholly unpleasant and over zealous woman, stood a Ministry inquiry and came through acquitted. You may not agree, or feel that justice has been done, but right now we have far more important concerns, and I cannot afford to waste time on these issues, or indulge your boyish concerns. So, let me ask you Harry, is this all about you, or do you understand the real threat that we face?" Blast it boy, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have something against you personally, but he is a very real threat to the whole of the Wizarding world beyond you, and beyond Britain."

Harry realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair and had begun to breathe faster as the Minister's voice became impassioned and angry. He didn't much like being talked to in this way, but he couldn't deny the point the Minister was making. Dumbledore had warned him that the meeting might go this very way, and still Harry was fighting to remain calm against his pounding heart. He forced himself to release the chair's arms and took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily and exhaling slowly, the meditative action calming him considerably.

"Yes," Harry said finally, his voice was calm and steady. "This fight may be personal to me, but I do understand what's at stake." He paused the span of another long breath, "and I will help you, as long as you are really going to fight this war."

* * *

Almost two hours later Harry and Moody left the Minister's office with what Harry believed was a good understanding of the Minister's plans, and a very good start at cooperation. The discussion had been lively at times with Moody finally joining in the talk of forming a Wizarding Army, and actually training a force to stand against the Dark Lord. Harry knew it was a new and potentially dangerous venture, but it had been exactly what he wanted, and what he had discussed with Dumbledore. The Minister, had readily accepted Harry's suggestions, and agreed that he would not be put on display. Harry had finally reluctantly accepted an honorary position as special advisor to the Minister, and agreed that the appointment would be publicly announced through the _Daily Prophet_.

"You know, I still don't trust him," Moody grumbled, as they turned down another corridor and approached the lift that would take them to the Ministry's main atrium.

"Neither do I… completely," Harry reassured Moody. "But better to work with the Ministry, than continue to work against them. We'll just have to be very careful, is all."

"On that point, I completely agree." Moody growled.

The lift clanked and rumbled toward its destination, a small number of paper airplanes hovering over their heads. A slight surge of residual adrenaline ran through Harry and he shuddered a little.

"Glad to have that behind you?" Moody asked his voice uncharacteristically calm. "Do you think the Minister was a bit hard on you?"

Harry looked up at Mad-Eye, standing next to him in the lift, his magical eye slowly spinning away, as though looking through the back of his head. "I am not sure he likes me much. What did you think?"

The magical eye swung around and fixed itself, so that both Moody's eyes were clearly focused on Harry. "Do you like him?" Mad-Eye didn't pause long enough for Harry to form his answer. "Rufus Scrimgeour is a good man. I have not agreed with him very much in our careers as Aurors, but he is smart, and he is genuinely frightened by what he sees coming. He didn't get to be Head of Aurors, and now Minister for Magic by depending on others to make decisions, and under normal circumstances he would never seek the help of an underage Wizard."

"That's how he sees me then?" Harry asked clearly disappointed.

Moody chuckled kindly. "Harry, that is what you are."

"But I'll be seventeen in less than a month" Harry protested.

"Seventeen is just a number, boy, there is nothing magical about it. Rufus Scrimgeour was telling you it's time to grow up, and I would have to say, this is one time that I agree with him."

Harry felt his temper starting to rise. He didn't like being told he was still a child. Hadn't he faced more in the last six years than many Wizards face in a lifetime? Hadn't he been forced to take care of himself almost his entire life? He wasn't sure how to react. "Everyone treats me as a child." Harry said with resentment.

"Some do," Moody agreed gruffly. "But the thing is, Harry, the war is bigger than you and Voldemort."

The lift lurched to a halt and the doors squeaked open. Harry was glad of the interruption, not wanting to pursue a topic to which he sensed the answer was not going to come through conversation.

What stood in the hall, at first glance, appeared to be a stack of filing boxes with thin legs. "Make room." A rather familiar voice commanded as the stack pushed forward into the lift and turned. "Filing" the voice commanded the lift. The boxes slowly settled to the floor revealing the identity of the person behind them.

Percy Weasley did a double take as he suddenly found himself alone in the lift with Harry Potter, and Alastor Moody. He flushed and stammered a little, "Harry Potter… I never expected to see you here?"

Harry, locked a cold gaze upon the wayward Weasley and spoke flatly . "Percy." Moody nodded slightly, his magical eye roving over Percy and his boxes.

There was an awkward silence as the lift resumed its journey. After a few moments Percy swallowed audibly and spoke again. "Harry," his voice seemed determined, but it was clearly difficult for him. "I feel, I owe you an apology. I doubted you, and time has proven you correct. So, may I say that I am sorry?" Moody chuckled a little on the opposite side of Harry, but Percy didn't appear to notice.

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing, he felt his temper rising with irritation and as it seemed he had been doing all morning, he forced himself to be calm. Percy looked almost frightened. Harry could tell it had taken a lot for him to say that, but it felt so out of place and misguided. The lift lurched again and the doors opened slowly. Percy flicked his wand, making the boxes float back up and out the doors into the hallway. Percy followed them, but turned to face Harry and said, "I just wanted you to know that I know I was wrong, and I believe in you now."

The calm that Harry was concentrating on snapped. He thrust out a hand to stop the lift doors closing. "Percy, you career obsessed prat, I don't care what you think of me." Harry's voice was rising in both pitch and volume. Percy's face flushed from ear to ear. "You wouldn't believe me when Fudge was against me, but now you do, how very convenient for you." Harry's voice dripped with angry sarcasm. He stepped forward but felt Moody's hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "How could you turn your back on your family for the sake of your career? When you quit being a git and patch things up with your Dad, and Mum, then you can apologize to me, and not before!" There was a loud crash, as Percy's levitation charm failed and the file boxes tumbled to the ground tearing apart, their contents spilling to the floor in a flood of sheaved parchments in all directions. Percy just stared at Harry his face deep crimson as if he had just been slapped. The doors of the lift trundled shut.

Harry stepped back as Moody removed the hand from his shoulder. "Feel better?" Moody chuckled.

"Brilliant," Harry smiled.

* * *

Once again the lift doors squeaked and rattled open as the lift reached the Ministry Atrium. Harry and Moody stepped off the lift and walked past the main gates into the expansive hall. A large group of former Hogwarts fifth years was crowding around a snack trolley. Among the bobbing heads in the crowd Harry easily identified a specific red-head that could only be Ginny, right next to an unmistakable blonde that had to be Luna Lovegood.

There was a murmur through the crowd of students as Harry and Moody were recognized, and several of the students turned to greet them.

"What are you doing here?" seemed to be the common question as Harry turned from one face to another smiling. He looked to Moody for some indication of how to respond, but received only a raised brow above Alastor's natural eye.

"I've been to a meeting with the Minister of Magic," Harry responded finally. This news was greeting with a number of "ooo's" and "ah's" from the younger students.

"But I'd much rather hear how your OWL testing is going?" Harry asked in an effort to divert the student's attention. This brought on a flood of simultaneous responses of which Harry could not decipher much more than the typical mixed feelings he'd experienced regarding his own testing.

Just then a skinny, long legged Wizard appeared from one of the gilded fireplaces. He was carrying a large hourglass and announced loudly that there were only twenty minutes remaining before the next round of testing would begin. Harry took the opportunity to suggest that the students had better get their treats before the testing resumed. To his relief this effectively broke up the group of students as they returned to the treat trolley or broke into smaller groups to compare notes.

Mad-Eye tapped Harry on the shoulder, "we should be going now. We have other things to do today." Ginny and Luna were making their way toward him through the rest of the fifth years. They approached quickly, Luna practically skipping.

"Just a few minutes to visit," Harry asked. "Alone?" Moody looked at the girls approaching and chuckled gruffly. "What can happen here in the Ministry?" Harry finished.

"Very well," Mad-Eye grumbled finally, "But just a few, I'll just have a quick visit with Eric." He motioned toward the Security desk, before he stepped away.

"Hello Harry," Luna said with a bright, wide smile, as the two girls arrived in front of Harry. Ginny stood next to him and slipped her hand silently into his.

"Are you here for something to do with Hogwarts, Harry?" Luna asked.

"No," Harry replied, "well at least not directly." He looked at the girls quizzically.

Ginny chimed in then. "They told us before the first testing session, that the Governors are meeting this morning to decide about keeping the school open. McGonagall is here at the Ministry with a bunch of the professors."

"I'm sure that Hogwarts will remain open." Harry said with confidence. "How else would kids learn about being Witches and Wizards?"

"Lots of families keep their children at home, Harry." Luna said, though she seemed to be looking at a particular set of symbols moving across the peacock blue ceiling. "My father wanted to teach me at home, accept that he travels so much for the Quibbler."

Ginny squeezed Harry's hand a little, but covered her giggle with a smile. Harry imagined for a moment what sorts of things Luna's father would have taught her at home. She seemed to already have an extensive knowledge of things the rest of the Wizarding world knew nothing about. He too, suppressed a chuckle.

"So how are your tests going, Luna?" Harry finally asked.

"Very well, thank you Harry," Luna replied airily, as she pulled at her Butterbeer cork necklace. "I expect my charms score will be acceptable, but Ginny's will be much better, I'm certain."

"How can you say that Luna, you were way across the hall from me during the practical portion?" Ginny protested.

Luna rolled her eyes and smiled. "Oh, I just sometimes know things like that."

"Really, Luna, I didn't know you were a seer?" Ginny teased.

"Well," Luna began, drawing the word out as though she was unsure of what to follow it with. "I know Divination is not the most popular of magical arts, but It does sort of run in my family. So, I come by it honestly."

"Was your mother a seer?" Harry asked.

"No," Luna focused on Harry, "It comes from the Lovegood side of my family. My father says that the Lovegood line only produces a daughter every few generations, and a Lovegood daughter usually possesses some sort of magical perception."

Harry imagined this was probably something Luna's father had told her just to make her feel special, and it seemed a rather harmless thing to him, in fact it seemed nice that he would want her to feel special.

"When was the last Lovegood daughter before you Luna?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, according my father, his father had a sister."

"Whatever became of her?" Harry asked. He knew he hadn't done well in History of magic, but if there had been a famous seer named, Lovegood, he felt sure he would have remembered.

"All my father has ever told me is that my Great Aunt Philomena married a man named Deyton, for some reason he can never remember a surname. Then, one day they just disappeared. He suspects that they moved to America, or that they were abducted by the Glanconer during a trip to Ireland."

Ginny, shot Harry a look of surprise, and squeezed his hand, upon which he realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it. He was a bit in shock, realizing suddenly that he might be in some way related to the Lovegood's. He was beginning to form a response when activity near the lifts attracted his attention.

Multiple lifts had arrived all at once and several people in formal looking, white robes were disembarking. Each of the robes appeared to be lined and piped with different colors. Harry realized that these must be the council of Governors for Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall was stepping off one of the lifts with Professors, Sprout, Slughorn, Sinistra, and Flitwick. The group of professors and Governors moved through the gates in to the main atrium and gathered near the gold fountain. Many of the students had seen them and were gathering around. Luna, without a word, had begun walking toward the crowd, and Harry followed anxiously with Ginny, the matter of Luna's ancestry, momentarily forgotten.

One of the Governors stepped forward, making motions with his outspread hands to quiet the questions of the surrounding students and gathering parents. He was a rather tall, stout, blonde, Wizard, with a full beard and round face, which gave him a jovial appearance. As he spoke it was clear that he was originally from Scotland.

"I'm certain you're all very concerned about the fate of Hogwarts School." The man's voice was crisp and measured. "The council has concluded its deliberations and I'm pleased to announce that the school will indeed remain open. Further, it is my privilege to introduce the newly appointed Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall." The man stepped back motioning Professor McGonagall forward.

Minerva paused, capturing a breath, and looked across the crowd of students, parents and other curious onlookers. "I am quite pleased that so many students are present for this, rather impromptu announcement. It is my great honor to accept the post of Headmistress, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Much work must be done to prepare for the fall term, as I will need to fill a number of positions." She paused again and took another deep breath before continuing. "I have been given the Ministries firmest assurances that all possible precautions will be taken to provide in Hogwarts a safe and secure living and learning environment. It is my fervent hope, that despite the recent tragedy, parents will send their children to Hogwarts without fear or reservation."

Harry, was trying to listen, but was distracted, as Luna asked Ginny a question. "Who is that man standing next to Professor Slughorn?" Luna said with an inquisitive lilt.

"I don't know," Ginny replied simply. "Harry," she tugged at his wrist to get his attention. "Have you any idea who that man is?"

Harry looked beyond Professor McGonagall. There was indeed another man with them, someone Harry had never seen before. The man was not wearing Wizarding robes and so looking a bit out of place. The man looked to be of a good height, but not so tall as to stand out, Harry estimated about 183 centimeters (6 feet). He was wearing a Muggle style tweed sport coat over a dark button down dress shirt, with a knit tie, and pleated corduroy slacks. He was quite slender. His hair was cut short and must have once been completely black, but now appeared graying, particularly at the temples. Looking closely, Harry thought his eyes were a dull blue, or blue-grey, and he had a vertical scar along his right cheek. He seemed a pleasant enough man though there was something cruel about his mouth. Harry found himself wondering if this was the Muggle that Kingsley had escorted to the Ministry that morning. Harry, leaned a little toward Ginny, and whispered. "I have never seen him before, but I have a suspicion that he is a Muggle. I'll tell you everything later." Ginny turned to look at Harry, her eyes wide with questions.

Professor McGonagall was continuing to speak. "I can announce at this time that I have asked Professor Pomona Sprout to serve as my Deputy Headmistress." Professor Sprout, stepped forward, blushing and smiling, then quickly stepped back. McGonagall hesitated momentarily. "And, Mr. Sean Fleming of Glencoe will be joining our staff as the new Muggle Studies Professor." The mystery man, Mr. Fleming, stepped forward and bowed slightly then stepped back. "Other appointments will be announced through the Daily Prophet, as positions are filled…"

Without warning, there was a loud claxton, and the atrium ceiling transitioned from its normal blue to red. The crowd was momentarily still as they looked to the changing ceiling in shock. Several of the fireplaces blazed bright green and Aurors stepped from the flames. Panic swept the crowd and people surged toward the fireplaces. Others moved toward the lifts, but were stopped as several wrought golden grilles exploded forward and cloaked figures surged out of the lifts. Spells began to fly as the dark figures seemed intent on opening a path through the gates to the fireplaces. Several students were stunned in the first volley of spells.

Harry spun around trying to take in the whole picture. A couple of Aurors, as well as the Hogwarts professors, were directing the panicking crowd to evacuate through the fireplaces, the rest were moving forward to engage the cloaked figures. Harry caught a glimpse of Mr. Fleming from the corner of his eye standing still, apparently calm, watching the scene with a look of fascination.

Ginny clung to Harry's arm tugging him, but he was not moving away. Luna too, was standing still watching with a sort of amazement.

Moody and Kingsley appeared at their side. With a broad flourish Moody, wand in hand deflected a stray spell and growled "Stupefy" causing a stream of pale light to erupt from his wand and drop one of the dozen or so cloaked figures. Harry, Ginny and Luna, each drew their wands.

"Are those Death Eaters?" Harry yelled to Kingsley, over the din of the fight and the panicking crowd. The Aurors had formed a line between the cloaked figures and the fire places, and the volley of spells was flashing every which way.

"Yes, Harry," Kingsley managed to come closer. "We received information this morning naming several possible Ministry officials from various offices." Kingsley ducked as a stream of green light flew over his head. "Somehow they knew we were going to raid offices… this is not an attack, it is an attempt to escape!"

The Auror's were managing to hold the Death Eaters near the golden gates, but casualties were mounting on both sides. A half dozen of the Death Eaters lay sprawled across the dark floor, and as many or more Auror's had been struck with various curses.

One of the cloaked figures seemed to be directing the others leveling his wand at the line of Aurors and screaming out the most forbidden curse. The words rang through the hall "Avada Kedavra" and time seemed to slow as Harry watched the stream of sickening green light erupt from the wand tip and move through the air to strike a Witch in the line of Aurors. The Witch was tall and slender and wore an eye patch over her left eye. Harry, felt he had seen her before. In the moment the curse struck she was engulfed by the green light, she screamed, her body contorted horribly, and she crumpled to the floor.

Ginny was pulling at him, but Harry felt no fear, in fact a great swell of anger was building in him. The Aurors seemed to be reacting the same way as a uniform volley of spells assaulted the Death Eater's shield charms in a spectacular explosive display of light. The Death Eaters staggered from the shear force of the assault. Their shields dropped and before the charms could be re-cast four of the dark cloaked figures were hit and collapsed to the ground leaving only the leader remaining.

Harry leveled his wand, at the man, but was momentarily distracted as he became aware of Sean Fleming stepping up next to him on his left. The remaining Aurors, including Moody, were advancing on the man. Harry heard a yelled incantation that sounded like a variation on the blasting spell. A solid wave of force suddenly moved outward in all directions from where the man was standing. In that moment Harry yelled "Protego" setting his shield, and heard Kingsley doing the same.

Moody, who was closest, was knocked back, and flew over Harry's head as the force threw him away. The whole line of Aurors was knocked back and many of the evacuating crowd crumpled beneath the wave of blunt force. Harry's shield charm held protecting himself, Mr. Fleming, and the two girls.

The man's hood fell back revealing his face, a portrait of anger and panic. He turned and focused on the first standing target he could see, Harry. Harry's eyes met his and there was recognition as the man's expression changed suddenly to fear.

"Yaxley!" Kingsley Shaklebolt yelled. Harry turned at the sound of the voice, but Sean Fleming was standing between him and Kingsley. The man called Yaxley turned as well and yelled "stupefy." Kingsley fell to the floor unconscious. Harry instinctively moved toward Fleming, who was pulling something from within his jacket. Harry leveled his wand at Yaxley who's eyes were turning back to find the next target. Harry began to speak his spell when a deafening sharp "bang" split the air, filling the Ministry atrium.

Harry watched as something struck Yaxley in the chest causing him to drop his wand and stagger backward, falling to the floor.

Harry looked to the source of the sound which seemed to have come from Mr. Fleming's outstretched arm. Harry had seen guns on Muggle television and so that was all he could think of as Sean Fleming smoothly tucked something small and black back beneath his coat.

A murmur was running through the crowd as the realization hit that the conflict was over, and all of the Death Eaters had fallen.

Harry turned fully to face Mr. Fleming, his wand arm fallen to his side.

Sean Fleming looked over at Harry, as he calmly straightened his jacket and tie. Then, with a slight, rather friendly smile, he winked.

* * *

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**NEXT**

Chapter Thirteen

**Welcome to the Jungle**


	14. Welcome to the Jungle

Chapter Thirteen

**Welcome to the Jungle**

_Draco pulled himself up onto the low moss covered wall were he would be concealed behind the dense bushes. He reached his small hands into the pockets of his robe and pulled out a half dozen nicely rounded cones he had collected from a nearby Scots Pine. He pulled a catapult from another pocket and loaded a cone in the leather, pulling back to test the springy resistance. _

_Easing along the wall he spied his quarry, a small elf, busying itself pulling weeds in the garden around a small fountain. His tongue perched at one side of his mouth and one eye closed he extended his right arm and pulled back the cord taking careful aim. He released the cord and the cone shot forward arching cleanly through the air to strike the elf on the head just behind the right ear. There was an audible "smack" and loud squeaking proclamation of pain from the injured elf. It turned and searched the ground till it found the offending cone and picking it up, cast its bulbous eyes through the surrounding garden while placing the cone in the rubbish bag with all the weeds. Rubbing the red mark on its head the elf turned and began tentatively pulling weeds again. _

_Draco, giggling, loaded another cone and lined up another shot. He released and the second cone arched through the air smacking the elf hard, right on the center top of its head. "Ouch!" the elf called angrily. The elf turned and examined the garden looking carefully at the spot where Draco lay hidden. There was a tense moment while Draco held back his delighted laughter so as not to be discovered, and the little elf slowly turned back to his work. Draco loaded yet another cone and again lined up a shot. He let it fly, and as he did the elf turned on its spot its hand poised ready to snap its fingers in some sort of defense. As it searched the air for the cone its eyes landed on Draco and it dropped its hand, allowing the third cone to strike it hard on the forehead. Draco laughed out loud. The elf grumbling beneath its breath picked up the cone and tossed it dejectedly into the rubbish bag._

_"Draco," his mother called. "Yes Mother," Draco responded disappointedly. "Come down from there, Draco. You should not be climbing around on the garden walls," Narcissa called concernedly. Draco clamored down from the low stone wall and walked to where his mother was standing, several feet away on the garden path. _

_Narcissa looked him up and down, reaching to straighten his collar and brush some moss from the shoulder of his robe. She spied the catapult hastily shoved in his pocket and cocking an eyebrow, frowned at him. "What have you been up to Darling? Harassing poor Dobby again I suppose?" Narcissa questioned. "Oh no Mother, no such thing," he lied coolly. _

_"Come with me, Dear." She extended her hand and he grasped her slender fingers with his small hand as she led him down the garden path, away from the wall. They walked in silence for a few minutes until they came to a small stone bench. They could see the back of the house, and his father's prized peacocks pecking and preening on the manicured lawn. _

_Narcissa bent and picked him up setting him on the bench. Draco's feet dangled and she bent down to tighten the laces of his shoes. She looked him in the eyes and he could see her sad gaze. "You lie as easily as your father, Draco." She stated matter-of-factly. "I wish you would stop, and I wish you would stop being so mean to Dobby," she said. _

_"Aw mother," Draco complained, fidgeting a little at her attentions. "He's just a house-elf and not a very good one at that according to father," he said in his own defense. Narcissa sat on the bench next to him taking his hand in hers. "Only seven years old and already so like your father," she paused. "I suppose it is only to be expected," she said with a sigh. "Still, you could be such a good boy, if you would only try," she exhaled. She turned to him, and she looked quite serious now. "I know your father is the world to you right now, as any father ought to be to his son at your age. But, I really don't want you following in his footsteps your whole life," she said. _

_Draco was confused. "Mother," he paused, not sure how to phrase his thoughts. "I want to grow up to be like father," he said finally. Narcissa turned her face from her son. "One day, perhaps after you've started at Hogwarts, hopefully your eyes will be opened and you will see the truth of things," she paused again and Draco thought he heard a crack in her voice, as though she might be crying. _

_"What's wrong, Mother?" He said finally, still confused. "Nothing, dear," she patted his leg affectionately. "I just have such high hopes for you," she said, turning to face him again, a smile across her lips that Draco knew, even at this young age, was a mask she wore designed to make her world more comfortable. "At least," she sniffed once, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief she'd produced from within her robes. "At least, we no longer live under threat of he-who-must-not-be-named," she said finally as she began to stand. _

_"What are you saying mother?" Draco started angrily; he pushed himself from the bench and turned on his mother. "Father says we would all be better off if he-who-must-not-be-named was still with us. Father says he will return one day." Narcissa looked at her son with utter disappointment. "Father says it is all the fault of that stupid 'boy who lived'!" Draco shouted, his tiny hands balled into frustrated fists. There was a long pause as Draco stood silent, angry and confused by the obvious difference in his parent's opinions. _

_"Well," Narcissa said finally. "I think that Potter boy performed us a service, even if your father thinks differently. One day, I hope you will see." She turned and walked toward the house. _

_Draco stamped a foot angrily. "Potter!" he yelled with distain. "I hate Harry Potter!" He screamed after his Mother. She turned. "One day, I hope you will see things differently," she said back loud enough that he could barely hear. _

_Draco kicked the ground as he watched his mother disappear into the house. He stood then in silence, angry that his mother should say such things in apparent defiance of his father. He was certain that his father would be right._

_As he stood there, seething in confusion over conflicted feelings for his parents, the sky rapidly began to darken. He felt a few drops of rain pelt his robes. Suddenly the world around him began to blur and fade, like rain washing away a chalk drawing._

Draco woke with a start. Large droplets of water were seeping through the thatched roof above him, splashing on him where he lay.

The last vestiges of his dream faded fast, as he shifted on his mat to avoid the falling water. He felt like he had barely slept, but there was light beyond the overcast sky so he knew it was morning, or at least very soon would be.

Draco sat up and drew his knees to his chest. He rubbed at his face knowing that he would be just making it dirty with his muddy hands, but he no longer cared. For a moment he contemplated his dream. It was more than a dream, it was a memory. He had been having such dreams every night, dreams of his mother. She was gone now.

It had happened the night of the celebration. Chunt'ea had come to collect him at the healer's hut. Together they had made their way to the main path where the procession of men and boys were arriving with various animals.

The younger boys excitement was infectious and Draco had found himself following as together they clamored around the edges of the gathering crowd like children searching out the best spot to watch a parade.

Chunt'ea had slipped into the crowd and disappeared, leaving Draco on the outer edge, watching. Woman and children were waving excitedly to specific men and boys. There were happy reunions all around him as families found one another. He began to feel a bit uneasy and for a moment thought he might just return to his hut.

Draco felt a soft hand on his shoulder. The slight touch was startling and he swung around to discover Titchi behind him. His instinct was to go for his wand, except that he had none. She was breathtaking, in her celebration garments, her piece costume was beaded in a multitude of color, rich and bright against her warm brown skin and her hair was pulled back, adorned with beads and feathers.

Titchi's expression was serious and if she noticed his momentary apprehension she gave no indication. "Dracho," Titchi said seriously, "it is your mother, you must go to her." "I was just there," Draco replied, not wanting to understand.

Titchi reached out and grabbed his arm leading him urgently back toward the healer's hut. She stopped a few paces from the stairs as the leather drape was swung aside and two figures appeared from within.

One was Mistress Puntáne; the other was a man Draco had not yet met. He was a small man, not possibly any taller than Titchi and yet he stood with such conviction and authority that clearly he was a man of some importance.

The man wore a simple leather loin cloth similar to the one Titchi had made for Draco. Around his waist was a belt from which Draco could see hung small pouches, a small axe and a large knife in a leather scabbard. His skin was dark and hard looking like Mistress Puntáne's. His black hair was cut short over both ears, but long on the top and in back, pulled and tied with a leather strap. There were shells and feathers woven into it in back. Across his chest were numerous strings of carved bone, wood, claws, teeth and other ornamental objects. He had a short leather cape over his shoulders and on his back a bow, quiver and some sort of travel sack. He also carried a staff very much like Mistress Puntáne's.

"Father," Titchi said, as she bowed her head respectfully. Draco took his cue from Titchi and lowered his head as well. This then was the Shaman, Draco thought, for a moment hope sprang in his chest. Perhaps he had been able to do something more for his mother.

"This is the boy?" the Shaman said as he came down the steps. Clearly no answer was needed, or expected. For a moment Draco wondered how it was he had understood the man's words, but the thought was fleeting.

The Shaman stepped toward Draco and walked slowly around him. After what seemed minutes of silence the shaman placed his hand under Draco's chin and raised his head. Their eyes met and Draco felt the man's black eyes boring into him. Draco knew what this was, and he didn't fight it. There was no pain as there had been with Voldemort. In fact the experience was almost soothing. After a minute it was done.

The Shaman reached into one of the pouches at his side and drew out a small flat stone, pulling up Draco's hand and placing it in his palm. The stone was small and smooth and unremarkable, such a stone could be found anywhere in the river.

"Take him to his mother." The shaman commanded, and began to walk away. He paused for only a moment in his departure to turn and command his daughter to follow. Titchi hesitated for only a moment and then turned to follow. Mistress Puntáne held open the leather drape to her hut and motioned Draco inside. Once he was inside, she left quickly.

The hut was as it had been the short half-hour before when Draco was there previously, nothing seemed to have changed.

Draco made his way to the back where his mother lay and took up his seat once more on the familiar stool. He was confused, there did not seem to be any change in her condition. She lay there, neatly dressed in a simple woven white night robe, her brilliantly blonde hair straight, pulled forward over her shoulders and chest nearly down to her hips trailing along her thin body.

She was so beautiful he thought she looked quite peaceful. He took her hand in his and spoke quietly. "Mother?" he began, "Are you going to wake up now?" He pleaded.

For long minutes there was silence as Draco sat there holding his mother's hand. Then he noticed that her breathing seemed to be shallower.

"Mother," he cried, "you cannot leave me mother." He came off the stool and collapsed on the floor at her bedside, still clutching her hand in his, he pressed his face against her arm and wept.

The small stone fell from his unused hand, forgotten.

For a long time he laid there, sadness overwhelming him, he could sense her slipping away. The flood gates broke and he cried profusely occasionally pleading, "No, mother... No you cannot leave me," he did not know how long he cried; until there were simply no more tears.

Draco raised his head and looked up at her. She still looked perfectly peaceful, though she was barely breathing now, her chest hardly raising at all in slow shallow breaths.

Draco rose on his knees rubbing at his wet face with his forearm. "Don't leave me mother," he said with a hint of anger in his voice. "Wake up," he commanded, "Wake up!" He reached over her and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Wake up!" he yelled. Nothing changed. He shook her again, pulling her up, her hair splaying about. "Mother!" he screamed pleadingly. She collapsed back into the pillow, no change.

Draco, now sitting on the bed, leaning over her, his arms at each shoulder, stared at his silent mother for long moments. Suddenly he pulled her up in to his arms embracing her desperately. He cried out, a frustrated, wordless, garbled scream. He held her there for a long minute rocking back and forth. Then he gently laid her back down, straightening her hair as best he could.

Draco stood looking down at her. The gently flickering candle light around her made her glow beautifully, she seemed very peaceful, and he resigned himself to the idea that she was not waking up. His heart ached painfully in his chest like a large stone had been placed there. He turned; squaring his shoulders, and quietly said "Goodbye Mother."

Draco began to walk toward the hut entrance but his movements were slow and unsteady. He felt as though the air was thick and fluid, it resisted him like water, as though he was walking against the current in the river. He paused at the doorway, he was tempted to look back, but he wasn't sure he could face such a loss as he knew was coming, he wanted to sleep. He did not want to be left alone. He wanted the world to simply go away.

Then, very suddenly he remembered the stone the Shaman had given him. Why? He realized he must have dropped it and he turned, searching the floor. He saw it then at his mother's bedside. He moved toward it quickly and picked it up.

In his palm the stone was warm and he thought it was beginning to glow. As he stared at it, it did begin to glow, a slight purple illumination from within. He held it between his thumb and forefinger examining it, as it became brighter.

Unsure of exactly why, he stepped to his mother and dropped the small stone in her right hand, it glowed steadily. He clasped his hand over hers and squeezed gently. There was a pulse of deep purple light and the world disappeared around him.

Draco found himself standing in a purple mist, dressed now in his Hogwart's robes. He moved and the mist swirled around him. He stepped forward; there was a light ahead of him, he moved toward it. With each step the deep purple mist faded around him. He could see a figure ahead, it was his mother. He ran to her calling "Mother... Mother!" She turned, smiling. There was nothing but grey fog all around her; she stood still, dressed in black robes, her hair draping her.

As he approached she raised a hand to stop him. He stopped a few paces from her, "Mother?" he said questioningly. She lowered her hand to her side. "It is time for me to go Draco." She said quietly. "Yes Mother, I understand," he replied. "I am afraid, son" she said. "No mother, what have you to be afraid of? I will be fine," he said reassuringly. "No, Draco, darling, I know that, you have it in you to be wonderful, I have always known that," she said with conviction. "It is this that scares me." She held her left hand forward, pulling the sleeve of her robe to reveal the dark mark.

Draco stared at it, the black mark on his mother's arm was moving, the snake coiling and repeatedly slithering through the mouth of the skull. Draco took a step forward. But his mother raised her right hand for him to stop. She bent over apparently in pain. The mark seemed to slither from her arm like a thing alive and it rose in billows of black smoke into the air above her, growing larger.

The floating mark solidified in the fog, its darkness pushing back the surrounding light. Narcissa drew her wand from her robes and cast a spell at it, a bright flash of orange light that splashed over it. It pulsed and protested, shaking off the spell and then the skull seemed to roar at her. It was an unearthly noise, unlike anything that Draco had ever heard. The snake sprang forward, solid and black and struck Narcissa, its fangs gashing through her shoulder. She collapsed as the snake recoiled. She dropped her wand as she fell and it clattered to Draco's feet. She lay there, a pool of red growing around her.

The snake recoiled, poised to attack again. Draco picked up his mother's wand pointing it at the snake and skull and the spell that issued forth surprised him with its bright ferocity as it slammed into the snake knocking it back. He stepped forward over his collapsed mother, screaming at the thing in the air, "You cannot have her! You'll never have her!" The snake sprang forward as Draco cast a shield charm and its fangs shattered against it inches from his head. It recoiled and Draco screamed "Confringo," blasting the snake apart. Another appeared from the mouth of the skull springing at him. He twisted as its fangs tore through his robe at his shoulder ripping the fabric away from his back. If he was hurt, he didn't feel it, and didn't care.

Draco began casting every spell he knew, blasting away at the whole apparition as the snake lunged and sprang at him. He was unrelenting as again and again he obliterated the tendrilling phantasm causing the skull to crack. He was bleeding and battered from the onslaught, but he stood his ground.

After what seemed long minutes of heated battle, the mark began to waver, its darkness retreating and its solidity fading. In one final thrust Draco yelled "Reducto." And the mark shattered, collapsed in on itself and was gone.

Breathing heavily Draco dropped his mother's wand, and it simply ceased to be before reaching the ground. He looked beneath him and his mother was gone.

"I am here Draco," came Narcissa's voice clear and strong. Draco turned and there was his mother standing before him whole and beautiful in pure white robes, awash in light.

"Have I saved you Mother?" Draco asked. "You surely have, my son," she smiled. "Then, will you wake up now?" he pleaded. Narcissa's face saddened and she stepped forward, embracing him. Draco hugged her tight. "No, Draco... You have saved me from a death worse than death. Saved me so that I can begin a new journey... a wonderful journey." She pulled herself from his embrace and held his hands, smiling again. "We both have new journeys before us. You have saved me, now it is time for you to save yourself," she said. "I don't understand Mother," Draco replied. "Cast off all that you know and become the man I know you can be, my son," she said.

Narcissa's hands slipped from Draco's and she seemed to be drifting slowly away from him. "Mother!" he screamed. "Be brave, Draco, It is there within you. It has always been there within you." Her voice was trailing away and he couldn't see her any longer. "I love you my son. I have always loved you." She was gone.

The world snapped back around him. He was there, in the healers hut, and she was gone. Her lifeless body lay before him.

Draco released her hand, taking up the small stone, now cool and unexceptional. He stood, glancing only for a moment at his mother's silent form, before turning. He straightened himself and walked slowly toward the hut entrance. He paused at the leather drape. "I love you Mother," Draco whispered. He drew back the drape, stepped out onto the small landing, sat sternly on the steps, and waited.

* * *

Severus Snape relaxed confidently in his chair on the patio adjacent to the office of Henri Royer Deforest, Mayor of the town of Beaujardin, in Southern France.

It was a warm evening but Severus still wore his customary black robes. He sipped the wine his host had offered him as he watched the man pacing back and forth uneasily.

Henri Deforest was a short stout man with rather spindly legs. He had a round face, with small brown eyes and a round bulbous nose. His dark hair was slicked close on his head and he had the wisp of a dark moustache cropped tight to his broad upper lip. There were obvious signs of perspiration showing through his salmon colored silk shirt, which he had matched with a pale teal vest and cream colored linen trousers. Henri's obvious nervousness might have been simply because they were waiting for a couple of very prominent people to arrive, or it might just have been that the man sitting on his veranda was a known Death Eater, and wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Either or both reasons were plenty to be nervous about and Snape really didn't care one way or the other.

The others who had been invited to the hastily arranged meeting were Hercule Lefurgey, the French Minister of Magic, and Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of the _Academie de Beauxbatons de Magie_. It was so far unclear if either would be arriving, though both were late.

From his seat on the patio Snape could see a large portion of the town of Beaujardin. It was a quaint village, like most places throughout Europe which were exclusively wizarding communities; it seemed completely out of time with the modern muggle world.

The town was set on the slope of a hill leading down into the wizard known _vallée de chevaux de val _(valley of the flying horses) so named because of the breeding of Abraxan horses carried out within the grounds of Beauxbatons palace. The palace itself could also be seen in the distance, perched at the edge of the village, its spires glittering in the waning sunlight.

Snape nonchalantly fingered the exterior of his left robe pocket checking that it's contents was securely in place in case it was needed.

The sun was setting fast and a series of lanterns flashed to life around the white stone patio, as the valley fell into deep purple shadow from the surrounding hills, beneath a still light sky.

There was a noise in the adjacent office and the door sprang open as a steward stepped neatly through and crisply announced the arrival of "The Honorable Minister, Hercule Lefurgey, and Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," (translated from the French).

A tall thin man stepped onto the patio. He was nearly bald with evenly set grey eyes, a pointed nose and a narrow severe chin. He was dressed in semi-formal charcoal robes. Behind him, stooping to get through the doorway was the imposing figure of Madame Maxime, dressed in cream colored robes. Behind her was the Minister's security detail; two average looking wizards wearing deep green cloaks.

Without noticing Snape, the Minister greeted Henri Deforest, who stepped forward to shake the man's hand. Madame Maxime however, noticed Snape immediately and she glowered at him.

"What iz zee meaning of zis?" Madame Maxime proclaimed loudly. "What iz zis man doing ere?" All attention immediately focused on Snape, who stood slowly from his chair. He finished the last sip of his wine and set the glass on the adjacent table.

"Thank you for coming Minister," Snape acknowledged the man with a very slight nod of his head as he spoke. "And, Madame Maxime, it is my pleasure to meet you once again," he bowed very slightly, though there was little sincerity in his tone.

"Ee must be arrested at once, for ze murder of Albus Dumbledore," Madame Maxime spat out angrily.

At that the two security Wizards drew their wands and leveled them at Snape. The Minister waved them off calmly and seemed to be visually taking stock of Snape. After a few moments he spoke. "You are Severus Snape, of Hogwarts School; the man accused of killing Albus Dumbledore?" "I am," Snape answered calmly.

"And, are you responsible for this death?" The Minister questioned further. Snape hesitated; he had not been quite prepared for the question so directly. After a moment Snape replied, "I am." There was a hint of something in his voice that the astute Minister was finding difficult to identify. "And, you are in service of the terrible Wizard whose name we do not speak?" Again Snape hesitated, "Yes," he finally replied darkly. "Regrettable," was the Minister's cool response.

There were a few tense moments as Snape sized up the obviously confident Minister, and the security wizards at his command.

"I have a message for you from Lord Voldemort," Snape said coolly. "Go on," the Minister said after a moment. "My Lord demands that all wizards of less than pure blood be immediately dismissed from public service throughout France. He insists that the village of Beaujardin, be restored to a pure-blood wizard community, as it was intended. That all muggle-born wizards submit to registration."

"Ridiculous!" Henri cut in angrily. The Minister raised his hand calmly to silence the Mayor.

"Further," Snape continued, "He demands that the student body of Beauxbatons Academy be restricted to full blood wizards only, and that the half-giant, Madame Maxime along with all mixed-blood wizards throughout France be immediately incarcerated."

"Zees ez an outrage!" Madame Maxime burst out angrily. "I'ave been Headmistress of Beauxbatons for fifteen years. I am guilty of no crime!"

"Minister, you cannot abide zis absurdité," Henri protested. Again the Minister raised his hand for silence. He stared at Snape giving no hint of reaction, Snape met his gaze evenly.

"Is that all?" The Minister asked. "You and the Ministry are to swear allegiance to the Dark Lord," Snape replied flatly.

"And none of this is negotiable I surmise?" The Minister questioned. "None," Snape answered.

The tension was palpable as everyone awaited the Minister's reply. The two security wizards were fingering their wands; Henri Deforest was ranting beneath his breath and had resumed his nervous pacing. Madame Maxime, seething with obvious anger stood motionless watching the Minister closely. Hercule Lefurgey cleared his throat lightly. "Arrest this man," he said.

In the split seconds hesitation it took for the security wizards to comprehend the order, Snape was able to draw his wand and cast a shield charm, so that their initial binding spells bounced away ineffectually.

Madame Maxime in her anger cast a much more destructive curse, but it too failed to breach Snape's shield.

Henri Deforest leaped behind the cover of a large potted plant were he attempted to draw his wand, but dropped it and in that moment the Minister, according to established protocol, apparated to a safe location.

Snape easily deflected the next spells cast by his three opponents, and was able to cast a bombardment curse that crumbled the wall behind the security wizards bringing it down upon them with a sickening thud.

An arc of fire exploded from Madame Maxime's wand and twisted toward Snape, he was able to meet it with a blast of frigid water from his own wand and the two forces struggled together between them. For a moment there was a seeming stalemate, but Snape pushed harder and the fire dissipated leaving Madame Maxime drenched in a deluge of icy water.

Madame Maxime next caused a table and chairs to leap at Snape violently, but he was able to duck out of the way deflecting the heavy table back at her. In her anger she raised her arms and smashed the table to the ground.

There were a series of popping sounds as more security apparated around him, leveling their wands.

Snape thrust his left hand into his robe, and disappeared.

Severus Snape reappeared a moment later in the woods across the valley, his prepared portkey having worked perfectly. Around him from the concealment of the trees appeared a dozen hooded Death-Eaters. Beyond them Snape knew was an army awaiting his command.

The sun had set and the woods were growing dark. Bellatrix Lestrange pulled the hood off of her head stepping forward. "What is the answer, Snape?" She hissed her voice laced with jealousy.

Snape nodded. Bellatrix turned and rushed toward a low wall that marked the edge of the grounds of Beauxbatons. She raised her wand high into the air and cast the dark mark. It hung there sickly green in the dusk, moving high above the palace.

Bellatrix's eyes shone with excitement as she screamed "Attack!" and thrust her arm forward casting the first of many ward-breaking curses. From the surrounding forest Voldemort's army of followers surged forward toward the palace.

Snape stood there watching as the hordes moved around him, his face unreadable.

* * *

Draco trudged down the path toward his day's task. He was barely awake and his stomach complained of hunger. He was filthy from head to toe and he could hardly think straight. He missed England. He hadn't before while he was in the village, but they had been caring for him like a guest, tending his wounds.

Now, he was away from the village, out in the hills at the base of the mountains with only the men and boys. Here he was being treated, in his mind, like nothing more than a slave.

Everything here was a struggle. Everything was hard, and Draco had never liked hard; actually, Draco had never known hard.

He arrived at his work site. It was a hole, no; it was pit, four meters long and two meters wide and so far, as deep as his shoulders. He did not know what it was for, or how deep it would eventually be. He just knew that the Shaman was telling him to keep digging, and nothing Draco had done had gotten him any more explanation.

Draco shook himself to try to clear his head. He looked down into the pit. The heavy morning rain had turned the bottom into mud, and as with every morning there were fallen leaves and debris strewn throughout. He knew there would also be lots of small creatures there as well, frogs and salamanders particularly seemed to like the pit bottom and he would have to shoo them away.

Draco rubbed at his stomach, breakfast had been only a small portion of cooked plantain and a few bits of sweet fruit, hardly enough that he knew he had even eaten. He retrieved the steel spade that he had left leaning against a tree, walked to the edge of the pit and jumped in.

Immediately there was a flurry of movement as, as he had suspected, small creatures darted from the cover of leaves and fled from him. He scraped at the leaves, gathering them together, causing more creatures to flee. He picked up as much as he could and tossed it out of the pit. He casually brushed away several centipedes and other insects from his arms onto the grassy pit edge.

This was not the first hole he had dug since his arrival here, but it was certainly the largest. He remembered the first time he had cleared away debris with is bare arms and how he had panicked and jumped with fear and disgust at the insects. The Shaman had laughed at him, causing him to feel very foolish. Now, three weeks later it was just a matter of course and he didn't fear the insects. In fact, he couldn't recall ever being bitten by an insect in all the time he had been in the jungle.

On several occasions now he had taken time to examine the small creatures. Many were rather large by English standards, and he had found them quite fascinating. Somehow there had been a small paradigm shift and these creatures he had once ignorantly feared, were now simply a part of his daily life, he didn't even think of them as a nuisance anymore. If they were in his way, he simply brushed them away gently and went on with what he was doing.

Draco cleared away the rest of the debris and began to scoop at the mud, shoveling it and throwing it out of the pit. His arms ached, but he persisted. At least, he found himself thinking, his hands had callused over and he was no longer suffering blisters.

The Shaman had brought him out to the men's camp the day after the village celebration. It had taken all day to make the walk. There had been no explanations, and very little conversation, in fact much of the day Draco had been lost in thoughts of his mother as he walked along trying to keep pace a few meters behind the Shaman.

During the night of celebration Draco had been with his mother as she had passed away. Later, Mistress Puntáne had returned and discovered him on the steps of her hut.

Several men had come, along with the Shaman, and bore Narcissa's body away to the central fire pit where a pyre had been hastily constructed. Much of the tribe gathered solemnly as Narcissa's body was laid gently atop the pyre.

The Shaman had made some sort of speech, which Draco had not understood and barely listened to.

Titchi, had apparently wanted to comfort Draco, but when she placed her hand on his shoulder Draco had shrugged it off, and stood there stoically.

When the Shaman was done speaking he approached Draco with a torch. Before accepting the flames Draco had handed him the small stone, met his gaze and said simply "Thank you." The Shaman had dropped the stone into one of his pouches and lead Draco toward the pyre. He stepped up close to the body and pulled back the left sleeve of Narcissa's robe exposing her forearm. He smiled slightly at Draco revealing that not a trace of the dark mark remained there.

When Draco gave no reaction the Shaman frowned concernedly. He motioned for Draco to light the pyre, and Draco did so, thrusting the flames into several places around the base. Draco handed the torch back to the Shaman and returned to his spot where he stood stiff and motionless as he watched the flames grow, and consume his mother's lifeless form.

The tribe began to sing, a low mournful song that grew with the increase of the flames into a joyous crescendo. A happy delivery, Draco thought briefly, from one life to the next.

He had stood there, while the tribe slowly dissipated, watching the flames burn. What seemed hours later the Shaman, and Titchi stepped in front of him. The Shaman spoke "Dracho, you are alone now. What do you intend to do?" After a long moment Draco met the Shaman's gaze.

"May I remain here?" Draco asked. The Shaman made no expression. "If you remain, you must become a part of the people. That will not be easy." The Shaman said. Draco did not respond. "We will begin in the morning," the Shaman said finally. He nodded at his daughter and turned, walking away silently.

Titchi took Draco's hand and gently lead him away to his hut. At the steps she paused, turning to face him. "Dracho," She said her voice full of concern. "I am glad that you wish to remain here." Draco simply nodded. "You must now become a man," she stated emphatically. Draco met her caring gaze. "But, I am a man, he protested. I am seventeen; I have already come of age." She giggled a little at his insistent tone. "Then, maybe, becoming a man among the Spirit People will be easy, for you. I do hope so," she said smiling. "Now, sleep Dracho. My father will collect you very early." Titchi smiled broadly as she turned and left.

Draco climbed the steps and crossed to the woven mat which passed for his bed. He removed his decorative clothing and laid it on a low table. He lay down barely able to process what had happened during the day. He shut his eyes and fell quickly into a deep restless sleep.

The Shaman had woken him before dawn, handing him a small leather bag and saying simply, "follow me." Draco rubbed the sleep from his eyes, hoisted his tired body from the mat and followed.

They walked at a pace that Draco found difficult. They moved along easily on a well worn road, passing through thick jungle, occasionally crossing shallow rivers. After what seemed hours of walking Draco asked "where are we going?" The Shaman did not stop or turn, but simply replied "I am taking you to where we keep our herds, there you will begin to understand how to become one of the Spirit People... or you will not. That will be up to you Dracho."

Draco was silent again for a long while. He noticed himself falling behind the Shaman and he was forced to jog to catch up. He was getting more and more tired. He asked if they could slow down and the Shaman replied, "Even the youngest of our children can make this walk; our boys can run the entire way and make the trip in a few short hours. A boy of your age should be able to make that run." The Shaman did not slow down.

Draco struggled to keep up getting more and more frustrated. During the hottest part of the day, when Draco was painfully thirsty and very hungry, the Shaman disappeared around a turn and Draco lost sight of him. As he came around the turn himself he saw that the road headed steeply down hill and wound quickly out of sight. He couldn't see the Shaman anywhere. He called out, but there was no reply. He started to jog to try to catch up, but with each turn in the road there was no sight of the Shaman.

Draco started to run, his legs aching. As he neared the bottom of the hill he entered a very dark part of the jungle the tall trees and thick cover blotting out the sunlight. He came around a turn and just ahead of him he could see a river cutting through the jungle and there on a rock at the side of the path sat the Shaman.

Draco came up to the Shaman, out of breath and upset. He bent over, panting, his hands at his knees. Before he could say anything, the Shaman spoke. "You are slow Dracho, and you still have far to go." Draco's instinct was to reply with an acerbic remark, but his breath was still caught in his chest. "Sit, rest, eat," the Shaman said in a surprisingly kindly voice. "There is food in your bag, you may drink from the river, perhaps even let the cool water ease your legs. I must leave the path for time, I will return shortly." The Shaman stood tapped his staff to the ground and was gone.

Draco said "thank you" very sarcastically. He sat where the Shaman had been sitting and swung the leather bag from his shoulder. In it were a few slips of dried meat, some nuts, dried berries and half a dozen oranges. Draco pulled out an orange and bit into it hungrily through the flesh. After devouring it he ate the meat and a handful of nuts and berries. After resting a few minutes he stood and walked into the river up to his waist and scooped up handfuls of the cool water to drink.

The Shaman appeared on the opposite shore. "Dracho, we have a long way yet to go," he beckoned with a wave of his arm. "I want to rest a bit longer." Draco replied curtly. There was a long moment of silence. Draco had the strong sense that the Shaman was not to be crossed, but he thought it reasonable to rest a while longer. "As you wish," said the Shaman, "But I will not wait for you. Come when you wish, stay on the road and you will be fine. But I warn you; even the road can be hazardous in the dark." With that the Shaman turned and strode away.

Draco walked quickly to the shore of the river and retrieved the leather bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he rushed back through the water and up the embankment to try to catch the Shaman. He ran along the road until his lungs burned, but there was no sign of the Shaman, and apparently no chance of catching him up.

Draco found a large stone at the side of the road, and sat there, pulling out another orange to eat. He swore to himself loudly. He did not want to be out in the jungle alone.

After finishing his orange and one more, he set out walking, now at an easy pace, following the road. The walking might have been pleasant, as it was beautiful, but Draco began to wonder what dangers might lurk with every unfamiliar sound he heard. He wished he at least had his wand.

Draco walked along easily for what seemed several hours. He had fallen into a sort of daze as he walked, his mind going over and over the events that had brought him here. He recalled himself at Hogwarts over the past several years, he would have been practically running the school he thought, if it hadn't been for the presence of Harry Potter, who hogged all the fame and glory for himself. He imagined that he would have been Head Boy in the fall if not for Harry Potter. He recalled his life at home in England with his parents in their grand Manor home, with servants and all the luxuries, even if he had to endure a life always under his father's thumb, it was a comfortable life.

The past year ran through his mind, and all he had done at the command of the Dark Lord, and his thoughts grew dark, everything had begun to go wrong in that year, and he had to admit that his life had become very uncomfortable while trying to gain the Dark Lord's favor. Then he recalled the torture at the Dark Lords hands, the fear, the agony, and the humiliation. The scars on his back began to itch and burn at the thought. He understood now that this was not a man, a creature, to be followed. He tried to force the feelings and images from his head but they persisted, as he recalled the effects of the Cruciatus curse, and the whipping. He started to run along the road as though he could out run the thoughts in his head, and the burning in his scars.

Draco felt his head begin to throb and he stopped, screaming aloud, trying to blot out the memories. He bent over and vomited.

Was this really all that he had become, an unhappy fool, the pawn of his father and the Dark Lord, the mean spirited, spoiled boy of his upbringing? He fell to his knees. He shut his eyes and tried to make it all go away.

Draco felt a few drops of cool rain strike his back, and an image began to form in his mind; an image he had not expected, but welcomed, an image of Titchi, first leading him from the water on the day he awoke among the Spirit People, then of her face above his as he lay in the healer's mud bath.

Rain began to fall hard around him and it eased the pain in his back. In moments he was completely drenched. He forced himself to his feet and resumed walking. At first walking in the rain was pleasant but after a while it slowly began to turn in to one more ordeal. He trudged on through the rain, hoping that he would soon arrive at his destination.

It took a few more hours of walking before he arrived at the encampment, the last of which was in darkness; an altogether frightening experience, after the Shaman's warning.

Finally he spotted a fire ahead through the rain and he dragged his feet forward until he could see the Shaman, and several other men and boys around a large fire, beneath a thatch roofed shelter.

Once Draco arrived at the encampment the Shaman offered him a small meal wrapped in a banana leaf and a wooden cup of water, which Draco accepted. He was then directed to a small lean-to a short distance from the central camp. Draco nodded and went there directly.

Draco was wet, and angry and thoroughly exhausted, but he suspected that complaining would not get him anywhere so he climbed under the protection from the rain, ate his meal quickly, and collapsed on the grass mat. Almost immediately he was asleep.

The next morning the Shaman shook him awake early. Draco rubbed his eyes and stretched. The Shaman handed him the leather bag, which had obviously been refilled and once again simply said "follow me."

They walked a short distance to where there were four sticks pressed into the ground. The sticks formed a rectangle about three meters long by one meter wide. The Shaman picked up a stick from the ground and shaking his staff at it transformed it into a shovel. He handed it to Draco, saying, "We need a hole."

Draco tired still from the long walk the day before and a restless night's sleep on a grass mat just starred at the Shaman as though he didn't understand. "It needs to be as deep as your shoulders," the Shaman said. "Why can't you just do it by magic?" Draco asked. The Shaman laughed, and then he spoke, "Magic is not always the right way Dracho." He began to walk away, "dig, Dracho, dig." Draco could hear him still laughing lightly as he went.

Draco pushed the shovel blade into the ground half-heartedly. After a while he had managed to break through the whole surface defining the space and started digging more easily into the compacted ground. As he worked he complained to himself growing more and more upset. He found the work pointless and demeaning. He wished he had his wand and could just do it with magic but he assumed it was a test of some kind so he persisted.

That first hole had taken Draco fully three days to complete. The Shaman had checked on him a few times each day, saying very little, but was obviously unhappy at the pace of the work. By the end of the first day Draco's hands were blistered and he complained, but nothing had been said accept to continue his digging.

Draco continued to grow more and more upset, but his outbursts were patiently ignored. He received only small amounts of food each day, and he continued to have no interaction with anyone but the Shaman.

Once the hole was completed, he was taken to a new location and asked to dig another the very next day. After his third hole he was asked to clear stones from a field and put them in a pile. This task had taken up almost two weeks. He hated it, and he hated the Shaman more and more with each new task; a fact that the Shaman didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

Once Draco had had a huge outburst during which he had attempted to break the shovel over a rather large stone in the field, and used some particularly foul language. The Shaman had simply magically dowsed him with cold water, told him he was still a child, instructed him to look at the work with pride and left laughing.

It had been like that for three weeks now. Draco had quit complaining, as it achieved nothing. He still slept and ate away from the others. He was constantly exhausted, but at least the actual physical labor had become easier, he was able to accomplish more in less time as his strength improved, but he felt very alone.

Draco didn't see that he was receiving any training and this angered him. He was plagued by nightly dreams that replayed events of his life, and he didn't like these memories. Or maybe it was that when he looked at his memories with detachment, he didn't like the image of himself that he saw. He wanted to quit, but quitting didn't seem to be an option. So now, he was digging yet another hole; this, the largest one yet.

* * *

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**NEXT**

Chapter Fourteen

**Hermione's Happy Place**


	15. Hermione's Happy Place

Chapter Fourteen

**Hermione's Happy Place**

Hermione was curled on the window seat in Ginny's room. She was staring out the window, uncharacteristically morose. Around her feet lay several editions of the _Daily Prophet_, which she had read through a number of times.

The last week and a half had been particularly newsworthy. First, in the July fourth edition, had been the account of the attempted escape of Death Eaters discovered within the Ministry. The banner headline read "CHOSEN ONE SAVES MINISTRY" and featured a large photograph of Harry casting a spell in the heat of the conflict.

The article had differed substantially from the first hand accounts Hermione had heard from Ginny, Moody, and Harry himself, but did give a fairly accurate tally of the lives that had been lost in the conflict.

Two smaller articles in that same edition had also been of interest. First, was an article that covered the appointment of Minerva McGonagall, as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; which had also detailed some faculty appointments, along with giving a calendar for the coming term. The second was an article in which Rufus Scrimgeour had discussed the Ministry's plans to form a standing army in defense of Wizarding Britain against "He-who-must-not-be-named."

Four days later, had come the exclusive interview of Harry Potter, by Imani Newell. This had been an extensive piece covering much more of Harry's life, history, and opinions than he had ever before discussed publicly. In it he had expressly asked that he not be referred to as "The Chosen One." He had judiciously answered questions on all sorts of topics, from being raised by Muggles, to his relationship with Albus Dumbledore. He had even been asked about the nature of his relationship with the Weasley family, most specifically Ron, and with a Muggle-born girl named Hermione Granger. This he had simply explained as, fellow Gryffindors and his two closest friends from Hogwarts, and avoided very much detail.

Harry had supported the Minister's plan to form a defensive army, and he had discussed the identity of Tom Riddle, who had later re-named himself, Lord Voldemort. He had suggested that people use the given name, and quit building fear by accepting anything else. It had been an amazingly forthcoming interview, though very carefully planned not to build mystique in the idea that Harry was somehow destined to save the Wizarding world.

The rest of the _Prophet _that day was devoted almost exclusively to articles about the interview, featuring analysis of what had and hadn't been said. There were also, a number of exposés featuring wild speculation about things like Harry's favorite foods, favorite hangouts, sense of fashion, and about his love life, most of which had been entirely inaccurate.

Ginny had been particularly upset about the "love life" exposé, not because of who Harry had been linked to, but because she had failed to make the list. It had not helped that Harry was rather relieved by that fact.

Then, on July eleventh had come the news of the attack on the town of Beaujardin in France, and the leveling of Beauxbatons Palace.

Accompanying articles had featured interviews with Henri Deforest, Mayor of Beaujardin, and Madame Maxime, Headmistress of the former Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The attacks, by all accounts had been brutal and the deaths had been many. The enemy forces had included Giants, Trolls, Werewolves and Vampires, among a host of other magical creatures, all commanded by "The Dark Lord."

An account had been given of a meeting between the interviewees and Severus Snape in which several demands had been made, and ultimately rejected.

Worst of all, the land on which the palace of Beauxbatons had once stood had been cursed. It was said that the Dark Lord had appeared and performed the curses himself at the conclusion of the battle.

The French Ministry had not responded to requests for comment on the atrocities, but it was rumored that a proclamation of war might soon be issued.

There were also articles covering several other attacks in towns throughout Eastern Europe. There were mountains of speculation about just how much power Voldemort had obtained across the European continent. It was clear that at the very least he now controlled the Wizarding leadership in Albania, the former Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, and Romania. His influence and power were clearly growing.

Hermione had gotten in the habit of reading every printed word of the _Prophet _to make sure she did not miss anything. It had become a part of her role, to stay on top of the news and keep Ron and Harry, and now Ginny, current. To be the one that looked for connections, and always had the facts at hand. She didn't mind it, no, she actually loved it. It was who she was, it was who she had always been and she wouldn't trade her adventures with the boys for anything.

Hermione loved the boys, ever since first year. She loved them both, and now, she had to admit to herself that she was "in love" with Ron as well. Her life was a wonder, she was part of something much bigger than herself, but it had come at a price; a truly dreadful price that caught her off guard, that she had not been prepared to pay. She felt a tear creep down her cheek and she sobbed lightly.

There was a light knock at the open door. Hermione hastily wiped her face and turned, getting up suddenly as Harry entered the room.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice was gentle and full of concern.

"Harry, oh," her voice caught a little, "I was just coming down." She crossed the room toward the door.

"Hermione, wait." Harry said. She stopped still. "Hermione, something is wrong. I know you, I know whatever it is you think you need to deal with it on your own," he began.

"No, Harry," Hermione objected, but Harry raised a hand to stop her.

"Hermione," Harry continued, somewhat sternly, "I have known there is something since the night we opened the lock-box. But so much has been happening, well, I sort of let it go... But, I haven't forgotten, and now I find you up here crying." He motioned to the window seat. "It's me, Hermione, whatever it is, trust me."

Hermione stood motionless staring blankly at Harry. Her expression began to soften and then tears rolled from her eyes. "It's... It's my parents." Her voice cracked and she sobbed deeply. "They've kicked me out!"

"WHAT?" Harry replied, much more loudly than he intended. From what little Harry knew about the Grangers, this seemed a complete impossibility.

Hermione was sobbing into her hands. Harry crossed to the door and closed it, then he lead Hermione back to the window seat and sat her down. He sat across from her on the opposite end.

"Tell me what this is all about," Harry said. After a minute Hermione got control of herself and tearfully poured out her secret to Harry.

"Well, it all started in Greece, after we came home from Dumbledore's funeral," Hermione began. It didn't take Harry long to grasp what had happened. Hearing it was one thing, believing it was another.

While the Grangers were vacationing in Greece, her parents had questioned Hermione for details about the death of the school's headmaster. They had received a letter from Hogwarts, just as all the parents did.

Hermione had decided that it was time to tell her parents all about the goings on of the Wizarding world and about her adventures at Hogwarts over the past six years. She knew that there was a possibility that they could become targets themselves and so she knew the truth would have to come out, because they would have to consider going into hiding for their own safety.

Hermione had told them all about Harry, and the stories about "the boy who lived." About the evil wizard, Tom Riddle, who had fashioned a new name for himself and killed Harry's parents. She told them how she had met Harry Potter and his friend Ron Weasley, and how they had all become the best of friends. She told them about how each year at Hogwarts had been an adventure in thwarting this wizard's return, and how during the fourth year, Voldemort had managed to kidnap Harry and use his blood to complete a re-birthing potion and so achieved nearly human form again.

Hermione had tried to stress how important it was that this wizard be defeated, and that she was part of a secret order devoted to this goal.

Harry, was a bit dumbfounded by all of this, but listened carefully.

"I didn't tell them about the prophecy, or the horcruxes, or anything truly secret," Hermione assured Harry.

According to Hermione, after that her parents asked a lot of questions for a few days and then they started asking about her plans for after she completed Hogwarts. She had to eventually admit to them that she was planning to seek some sort of a job at the Ministry of Magic.

After that they talked a lot about their own ambitions for her, going on to University, becoming a Doctor, or Lawyer, or something else acceptably Muggle oriented. Their discussions had become increasingly tense. They admitted that they were proud that she was a witch, and they had always seen it as a distinct advantage in her life, but they had never thought that Hermione would choose to live and work within the Wizarding community.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had expected that once Hogwarts was completed Hermione would rejoin "normal society," was the expression her father had used. They had never suspected that their daughter would ever be caught up in something as truly dangerous as the stories that she had told them. They were extremely frightened and disappointed.

After they had all returned from Greece, apparently Hermione's parents had told her they had decided that she should not return to Hogwarts in the fall. Her father had presented her with a couple of alternatives for completing studies, and they had told her that they could not allow her to continue to place herself in danger.

When Hermione had refused their suggestions there had been quite a row. They had argued for several hours and finally her parents had told her that they could not condone her choices and that if she insisted on pursuing her path in this whole affair that she would have to do it without their consent, or support.

Hermione had told them, that they couldn't understand what was really at stake and that she could not do as they wished. Their response had been to cut her off. If she was going, they had said she needed to be prepared to do so completely on her own, and that she would not be welcome to return unless she was willing to do as they insisted.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were adamant, and had not altered their position the next morning, so Hermione had left them a long letter trying to explain, and come to The Burrow.

When she was done speaking she sobbed again heavily and wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Hermione," Harry said after a brief silence, "I am so sorry. But, why have you been keeping all of this a secret?"

"I'm not sure Harry," she replied "I didn't want to burden anyone else... I really don't know what I am going to do. I know the Weasley's will insist that I stay here until school begins. I have some savings, but not enough to pay for a place to live, or even to cover the tuition at Hogwarts."

"I am sure your parents are just frightened, if you give it some time they will come around, they love you too much not to," Harry said firmly.

Harry stood up and pulled Hermione to her feet. "And as for a place to live, well, you can't very well imagine me living in the Manor alone can you? You can have any room you want, I insist."

"Oh Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed, though now with a bit of relief, as well.

Harry returned the hug with genuine affection. "It will all work out Hermione, I am sure of it." He said as he rubbed her back gently trying to comfort her.

After a moment something occurred to Harry and he asked. "What was that about tuition at Hogwarts?"

"What? Hermione replied, momentarily confused.

In that instant, the door to the bedroom flew open and Ginny rushed in.

"Hermione, have you seen Har...?" she was asking as she entered.

Ginny stopped still, not finishing the name, she was staring right at them both, a look of confusion on her face.

Hermione looked up from Harry's shoulder and seeing Ginny, stepped back awkwardly from his embrace.

"What's...?" Ginny started angrily but paused, seeing Hermione's eyes and the obvious tears on Harry's shoulder, her expression completely changed to concern. "What's Ron done?" she said. Ginny crossed the space between her and Hermione quickly and hugged her.

"No... It's not Ron," Hermione choked out.

"Well, then... please tell me what's going on." Ginny implored.

They sat back in the window seat and Harry pulled a chair from Ginny's desk.

Hermione quickly explained, giving Ginny an abbreviated version of what she had just told Harry.

When she was done Ginny looked positively scandalized. "This will all blow over," she said. "They need a bit of time to come around."

"See, Hermione," Harry cut in. "That's what I said," He smiled at Ginny, who responded in kind.

"In the mean time you can stay here with us, until Harry can move into the Manor proper, and then you can stay there with him," Ginny said.

Harry smiled at Hermione, rolled his eyes, and shrugged, slightly.

"What?" Ginny asked seeing Harry.

Hermione laughed a little at the two of them. "You're just saying exactly what Harry said."

"Oh? That's just because I can read his mind," Ginny winked.

"In any case," Harry cut in again. "The whole reason I came up here looking for you Hermione, was I want you to come to the Manor today. I think now, it would cheer you up."

"I would like that Harry," Hermione replied.

Ginny got up and grabbed Harry by the arm pulling him from the chair and directing him to the door. "Just give us a few minutes to get Hermione freshened up and we'll be right down," she whispered.

Remus Lupin had arrived while Harry was talking with Hermione, and he had Tonks with him. They were having a late morning tea in the sitting room with Bill and Fleur.

Harry came down the steps to warm greetings all around. He took a seat and helped himself to a biscuit from the tea tray.

Harry had visited the Manor only twice since he had first gone there and inadvertently spent the night. He would have liked to go more often, but it had been difficult for Lupin to get away and act as an escort, which is what Harry had agreed to during that first visit. During those two visits he had done some exploring, but mostly he had just sat and talked to his Grandparents' portraits. They had explained everything they could think of about the Manor, and Harry had some surprises in store for this visit. He was feeling a bit anxious to get going.

"Harry," Lupin addressed him. "I hope you don't mind that I've brought Tonks along today, she had the time free and I told her I thought it would be okay."

"Oh, it's fine," he smiled at the two of them. "In fact." He turned to Bill and Fleur, "Why don't the two of you come as well?"

"Oh, 'Arry, zat would be _magnifique_." Fleur answered for them both. Harry had thought that she in particular had wanted to visit again.

"Well then," Harry said, "Once Hermione and Ginny come down, I guess we have everyone."

Harry had wanted Ron to come as well, but he had needed to go work for his brothers at the shop. He had been taking too much time off from his summer job in order to spend as much time as possible with Hermione over the past week. While Fred and George had been very understanding and accommodating, they had insisted that they just couldn't spare him today and so Ron had gotten up early and grudgingly headed out to work.

* * *

Ron arrived through the public floo grate in Diagon Alley. There were not many shoppers out yet, but he suspected that today would be another busy day. The recent news items had seemed to have the effect of making people more comfortable to be out and about. The incident at the Ministry seemed to suggest that it had been purged of Death Eater activity. That, coupled with the evidence that Voldemort was preoccupied with activity in continental Europe, and the uplifting nature of Harry's interview, all was having a positive effect on the Wizarding community. That meant people were out shopping.

Ron turned quickly to the right and headed down the alley, which was not the direction of his brothers' shop. He hurried along excitedly fingering the heavy coin purse in his pocket. His brothers had actually been paying him pretty well and in the short four weeks he had worked for them he had already managed to save sixty galleons. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with that money.

Ron arrived at his destination and looking around, not really wanting to be noticed, he ducked in.

The shop Ron entered was very clean and well lit. There was a thick emerald carpet runner the length of the shop, surrounded on three sides by counter height glass cases. A handsome witch was seated on a stool at the far end of the shop on the opposite side of the cases. She quickly got off of her stool and greeted Ron. "Welcome to _Peninnah Promise, fine Jewelry_. How may I help you?"

Ron's feet wouldn't move and his throat went dry. The Witch stepped closer and recognized him. "Oh, Ron, isn't it? Ron Weasley?" she asked. "Are you here about your Brother Bill's rings?"

Ron, found his voice. "No. I mean, yes I am Ron, but no I am not here about Bill's order." He still didn't move.

The Witch smiled kindly, noting his obvious nervousness. "Well then," She said in a very soothing tone. "What may I help you with, Ron?"

"I want to look at rings... Muggle style engagement rings," Ron cleared his throat, which seemed to have the effect of un-sticking his feet. "I noticed when I was in here with Fleur and my Mother earlier, that you carry some."

"Of course, they're just over here." She directed him to a specific jewelry case. "As you know, common Wizarding tradition does not usually include an engagement ring. But we have found that they are very popular when one intends to marry a Muggle-born witch, or even for those who choose to marry a Muggle." She paused, looking at Ron with a kindly questioning gaze. "May I inquire about the lucky girl?"

"She's Muggle-born," Ron said. "And, I think she would appreciate following the Muggle tradition," He smiled. "But, she is a very practical sort, so nothing too flashy."

"Very good," the Witch responded. "Well, all the rings in this case are self-sizing enchanted, so do you see anything you think she would like?"

Ron peered into the case, looking at the many beautiful rings. Finally he saw one that he rather liked. "May I see that one?" he pointed.

The Witch opened the case and drew out the one Ron had indicated. She set it on the counter so that Ron could get a closer look. "A wonderful choice," she said. "This is a lovely ring, beautiful, but certainly not ostentatious. It is a gently gliding white gold ribbon topped with a trio of small round diamonds on either side of the square cut center diamond." She pulled the ring from its case and handed it to Ron to hold. "You have excellent taste."

"May I," Ron stammered a little "may I ask how much it is?"

The Witch checked the bottom of the ring box. "This one is only 300 galleons," she replied.

"Do you offer any purchase plans?" Ron asked, handing the ring back to the Witch.

"Certainly, we can place any item on hold and take payments," she replied. "We also offer an exchange service on any purchases, if for any reason the girl in question should prefer another style."

Ron nodded. He thrust his hand into his pocket, drawing out his coin purse. "Can I put sixty galleons on it today?"

"That would be perfect, and will you be making additional payments weekly, monthly?" The Witch asked.

"Monthly," Ron said after a small pause.

"Very good, I'll just write this up then?"

Ron nodded, smiling.

It took a few short minutes for the Witch to fill out a hold agreement and give Ron his receipt. He thanked her, walked to the front door, looked carefully both ways and exited the shop. He moved quickly up the alley toward _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_, and was soon inside.

The familiar spring bell sounded and Fred and George appeared from different sides of the shop. "Glad you could finally make it," Fred said as Ron headed to the back of the store, still unable to wipe the grin from his face. "You're late." Fred and George said in unison.

* * *

From the look of things the Manor had been meticulously cleaned and polished top to bottom; which, of course, is exactly what had happened. Jarvy was proudly leading the small group on a tour. They had started at the grand foyer at the portrait of Deyton and Philomena, after warm greetings and repeat introductions; they had walked up the main stairs to the second floor.

They were walking down a long corridor going slowly to accommodate Bill who had graduated from a crutch to a cane. The corridor was a light cream color and populated by a series of small stands topped with bright bouquets of fresh flowers, between doorways. "This is the main wing of sleeping rooms," Jarvy was saying. "The Master suite is the last room at the end."

"Oow many rooms are zere?" Fleur asked. She was particularly excited about this visit.

"There are seven rooms in this wing," Jarvy said, as he opened the door to the first room.

The room was quite large, beautifully decorated with dark oak Victorian furniture. There was a large wardrobe, a desk and chair, a four poster bed and a sitting area beyond. The walls were a subtle olive green below and an elaborate floral patterned wall paper above. All of the fabrics were beautifully matched so that the room achieved a comfortable, relaxing harmony.

"Mistress Philomena, is always very particular about the decorating," Jarvy said as he entered the room, waving them in. "There are five rooms like this on this floor, each has it's own bathing and dressing rooms, and each is decorated in a different color scheme."

As Jarvy spoke Ginny, Hermione and Fleur were rapidly moving through the spaces, "oowing" and "aahing" at the detailed finishing and decorations.

"Why is the Manor so large," Tonks asked, "I mean... not to be impolite, but don't the Potters only ever have a single child every generation?"

Jarvy did not seem fazed by the question, and Harry, was just as curious to hear the answer as everyone else. "That, unfortunately has always been true for as long as I am aware of the Potter family history," Jarvy began, "However, this house has been the Potter family home for three generations, not counting Master Harry and his father who never knew the Manor.

The Potters have always been very generous, when it comes to having house guests." Jarvy seemed excited to talk about the Manor, and all the things that had gone on there. "The most elaborate celebrations and balls have taken place in this home, sometimes with guests staying on for months at a time." Jarvy continued. "Please feel free to look at as many of the rooms as you like," Jarvy stepped back in to the corridor, motioning down the length of the hall. "Though the last door on the right is Master Harry's private suite, no one enters there without his personal permission."

The girls set off to explore some of the rooms leaving Lupin, Bill and Harry, standing in the corridor with Jarvy.

"How many bedrooms are there Jarvy?" Bill asked.

Jarvy looked up at Harry as though checking that he was not speaking too much. Harry smiled and nodded. "There are five sleeping rooms on this floor, along with the nursery suite and the Master's suite. The floor above has ten rooms of similar size. There are four larger guest suites in the North wing on this level and another ten rooms on the floor above that, so total there are thirty-one sleeping rooms in the Manor." Jarvy continued, "However, on the attic level of this wing there is a single large room that could accommodate many bunks if it were necessary. And the North attic houses Jarvy's personal rooms and House-elf quarters."

"I had no idea it would be so big," Bill said after a short pause. He turned to Harry, "How much of it have you been able to explore during your previous visits?"

"Not all of it, but a fair bit," Harry said. "We've already had the tour," Harry indicated Lupin with a slight wave of his hand.

"'Arry, et ez all so marvelous!" Fleur exclaimed excitedly as she returned to Bill's arm, "I was not expecting et to be so lovely, and so grand."

"I am very happy you like it," Harry replied graciously.

"Harry, I'm going to show Hermione the room where I slept," Ginny enthused, almost giddily. "It was in the other wing," she said to Hermione, whose arm she was holding, practically dragging her around.

"Go right ahead," Harry responded. He was very glad to see Hermione smiling, especially after the events of the morning.

Ginny raced away toward the North wing, Hermione in tow.

"Jarvy," Harry turned back to the House-elf. "Why don't you take our guests to the drawing room, through the Ballrooms and Dining rooms? I think lunch on the patio might be very nice."

"Very good, Sir," Jarvy replied contentedly. It was obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying having the Manor coming back to life again.

"There is something I want to show Hermione while she is in the right part of the house," Harry said to the others. "Do you mind?" Harry asked, not really expecting any objections. "I'll meet you all on the patio in a few minutes."

"Go on then," Lupin replied. We'll take the four-knut tour and meet you there."

"It's really all brilliant Harry." Tonks said, as Jarvy lead them toward the central stairs.

Harry ran down the corridor to catch up the girls. He found them exploring the suite that Ginny had been in on the night they had stayed at the Manor. It was the first of the guest suites and Harry found Ginny and Hermione in the dressing area examining some of the charmed items that populated it. Ginny was seated at the dressing table letting the brush and comb tend her hair, as Hermione was in one of the alcoves looking at gowns.

"Harry, it's all so amazing!" Hermione said enthusiastically as she noticed Harry enter the room.

"Overwhelming is more like it really," Harry replied, a tone of truth evident in his voice.

"Yes, I suppose it must be." Hermione replied empathetically, unable to squelch her smile as she ran her hand along a lovely silk gown.

"Do you like the suite?" Harry asked.

"It's brilliant," Hermione nodded.

"Good, it can be yours if you like," Harry said. "Unless of course Ginny wants it to be reserved for her own use, if she is ever allowed to visit again," Harry winked at Ginny as she turned in her seat. Before any reply was made, Harry continued. "If you two are done here, there's something else I would especially like to show you, Hermione."

Ginny and Hermione followed Harry out of the suite and down the corridor through a set of double doors into another hallway running at an angle to the first. This hallway was filled with what seemed to be Muggle paintings, as none appeared to have moving occupants. Hermione had the feeling she had stepped into an Art Museum. She slowed a bit wanting to look more closely at some of the informational plaques, but Harry continued through the space and Ginny tugged at her to keep up.

"Do you know where Harry's taking us?" Hermione whispered to Ginny.

"Nope," was Ginny's only reply, but Hermione could tell she was excited to get there, wherever there was.

Harry came to large, arched double doors at what seemed to be the end of the museum like space. He stood in front of the doors, placing his hands on the knobs.

"Hermione," he said ceremoniously. Hermione felt a chill of anticipation, her curiosity piquing. Harry pushed the doors open wide. "Welcome to the Library."

Hermione's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She could hardly move. Ginny nudged her into her first step and she managed to slowly enter the space, Harry and Ginny following behind her.

Hermione was awestruck. She had never seen so many books in her life. They had entered on the second floor of what appeared to be a huge oval room. All around her were long shelves of books lining the whole of the second level. She crossed to the banister and looked into the open space. There were three floors of books. At the opposite end of the space was a huge set of windows reaching the full height of all three floors. Above was a glass dome supported by narrow columns reaching all the way to the first floor. It flooded the whole room with natural light. The oval appeared to be at least sixty meters across and about forty wide. Every ten meters was a cast brass circular staircase winding between levels.

Hermione turned back to Harry, rewarding him with exactly the heavenly expression he had anticipated; the events of the morning clearly forgotten in the present excitement. "My god, Harry! It's glorious!"

"When my Grandmother told me it was here, I knew you were the one who had to see it Hermione," Harry said. "I think it is at least twice the size of Hogwart's Library."

Hermione rushed Harry and hugged him. Ginny stepped back from his arm to let him hug her back. It only lasted a few moments, but it was the greatest heartfelt "Thank you" Hermione could muster through her excitement. She pulled away, and immediately moved to one of the shelves, running her hand along the hard polished wood.

At the end of each shelf unit was a brass plaque with an alphanumeric designation, this one was 2A. Above each plague was a small, hand sized, carved face in relief, not quite human in appearance, but kindly looking. It appeared to be sleeping. Hermione ran her hand across the carving gently feeling the depth of it.

Suddenly the face moved, its eyes blinking awake and its mouth yawning open. Hermione stepped back momentarily startled. A gentle, almost elf-like high voice whispered "May I help you Miss? What sort of book are you looking for?"

Hermione stepped forward again curiously. "Oh... Um, excuse me for waking you. I was just curious."

"That is quite alright Miss. I have books on Arithmancy on my shelves. From Artemus Arccot's 'Arcs on a Circle, the Importance of Precision in Magical Seals,' to Hayden Heron's 'The Triangular Box'."

Hermione stood there in amazement. "Spectacular," she whispered.

Ginny and Harry chuckled.

"If you have any sort of research agenda, Hermione, I suspect this is a place to begin." Harry said.

"I should think so!" Hermione replied as she turned and headed to the nearest staircase. Harry and Ginny followed as she descended to the first floor.

Here the shelving units were two deep and the center of the room was filled with several tables and chairs, in neat rows. At the far end of the Library beneath the expansive window was a lounge area filled with overstuffed chairs. Along the outer walls of the first floor, between equally spaced windows where tall display cases filled with hundreds of objects, from small curiosities to genuine artifacts, and near the center just off the ends of the shelves were display cases with various rare and one-of-a-kind books preserved under glass.

Harry and Ginny stopped near the tables and watched as Hermione moved around the space running her hands across all the wood surfaces as if to assure herself that it was all real. Finally she randomly pulled a large leather bound tome from one of the shelves and brought it back to the table where Harry and Ginny were standing. She set the book on the table and without noting the title simply opened it and started reading. "I could spend years in here," she said looking up at them.

"I'm sure you could, but I did tell the others we would meet them in a few minutes," Harry replied.

Hermione frowned at him.

"But, you can come back you know."

Hermione smiled broadly.

"There is a problem with the Library though." Harry said.

Both Ginny and Hermione looked at him curiously. "What could possibly be wrong here?" Hermione asked.

"Well, the house has been closed since 1920, so there have been no books added to the collection from that time on. My Grandmother seemed particularly distressed by that fact." Harry stated. "Someone needs to start ordering books."

Hermione's eye lit up again, her mind clearly calculating the possibilities. "I'll do it!" she exclaimed.

"I thought you might be willing." Harry smiled. "Now, just one more thing and we really must go." Harry reached into his jumper pocket and pulled out a small cellophane bag and handed it to Hermione.

Hermione looked at it. It was a bag of various colored sugar gumdrops. "What's this for?" she asked. "I don't really care for such sweets."

Harry pointed up toward the ceiling. "Set one on the table, and watch."

Hermione pulled a red gumdrop from the bag and set it on the table by the open book. Then she focused on the ceiling where Harry had pointed. At the ceiling line all along the base of the domed glass was a heavy ledge, from which a thick blanket of foliage was growing. It hung down in several places and was speckled with small brightly colored blooms. As she watched there seemed to be movement in several places, a sort of translucent fluttering. Soon there were several small creatures darting about. From the distance they appeared to be humming birds.

As they watched one of the small creatures began to spiral downward tentatively. As it got closer Hermione could see it more clearly. At first she thought it looked a bit like the Cornish Pixies they had encountered during their second year DADA class with Gilderoy Lockheart, but this was a much more delicate creature with more graceful limbs and less angular features. The creature slowly approached and landed on the table near the book and gumdrop. She was very thin with distinctly pinkish coloring and gossamer wings. Atop her head instead of hair was a mass of what appeared to be delicate downy feathers. Her large eyes blinked at them. She bowed, seemed to smile broadly and trilled at them, a very happy inquisitive sound. She moved toward the gumdrop and looked expectantly at Hermione.

"Yes, it's for you." Hermione whispered. The little Pixie picked up the gumdrop in both hands and popped it whole into her tiny mouth, her cheeks bulging comically. Then she pointed at the book and motioned to the shelves. "Oh, would you please?" Hermione replied to the unspoken question.

The little Pixie, still smacking on the gumdrop in her mouth, heaved the cover of the book closed, took it by the binding and though aerodynamically impossible, flew it back to its place on the shelf. Then she smiled and waved, and darted back up toward the ceiling.

"She was beautiful Harry." Ginny said. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Grandmother says they live here in the Library. Up there." He pointed to the ceiling. "Strictly speaking the sweets aren't necessary, but clearly they are appreciated." He chuckled. "If you want to leave a book out, you need to leave an unshelled chestnut on it otherwise I guess they will put everything back in its proper place."

"Is the entire Manor going to be such a wondrous place as this?" Ginny asked.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Hermione answered speculatively.

"Well we'd best go catch up with the others," Harry said as he began to turn toward the door.

"Harry," Hermione said. "I'm going to need a big bag of chestnuts," she was still staring at the ceiling.

Harry chuckled again, reaching for Ginny's hand and giving it a gentle tug. "We'll ask Jarvy," he said.

* * *

Back on the patio Jarvy had laid out an extensive lunch buffet. When Harry, Ginny and Hermione arrived the others had already begun to serve themselves. They filled plates and joined them at the table.

Fleur was going on about the size of the Manor's main Ballroom and from the conversation it was clear that they had visited the extensive gardens as well.

"So, has Moody come to any decisions about the Manor?" Bill was asking Lupin.

"He was here the second time I brought Harry. He and I did an extensive sweep of the grounds while Harry visited with his grandparents portraits." Lupin said. "I think he's convinced that the Manor is nothing more than it is presented to be."

"Has he said anything to you Harry?" Bill asked.

Harry looked up from his plate. He was hungrier than he had thought when he first filled his plate. "Yes, he said I can move in on my Birthday. But, he wants me to have at least two members of the Order stay here with me at all times. At least until Voldemort is no longer a threat." Harry smiled.

"Zat ez wonderful!" Fleur said. She was nudging Bill in the side.

"That is wonderful Harry, though I think Mom will miss having you at The Burrow." Bill said, "And Ron, of course."

"Well, for now the only way to and from the Manor is going to remain The Burrow pantry, so I think I will still see plenty of your mother, not to mention all of the Weasleys." Harry squeezed Ginny's hand beneath the table. "And, I have plenty of room here, so I was thinking that I would ask Ron to stay here with me, if your parents think it is alright."

"Well, he is seventeen already, so they probably won't object, too much." Bill chuckled "But you don't want Mom thinking you're stealing all her youngest away." Bill winked at Ginny.

"Will you be okay here Harry?" Tonks asked. "I mean, this place is huge, won't you feel a bit lost?"

Harry chuckled a little. "It is huge, especially for a boy who spent the first ten years of his life sleeping in a cupboard. I'm still getting used to it, but it is home... and it feels like home." Harry paused. "Besides, it seems that I will have plenty of others here with me." He looked over at Hermione. "Hermione is going to move in here, so will Ron I hope, and I was thinking maybe the two members of the Order could be you and Moony?" he asked.

"Harry," Lupin cut in, "I am not sure that would be such a good idea, after all, I am... well, it can be dangerous."

"Ah, well, I can only ask." Harry set his fork down. "But, if you're worried, I happen to know that the Manor can accommodate your needs."

Lupin looked at Harry quizzically, then, he smiled. "I suppose it can. Alright Harry, if that is what you want, we can give it a go."

"Tonks?" Harry asked.

"Blimey Harry, I never expected... Well, sure I would be honored!" Tonks nodded.

"Well, it seems like you'll have a full house Harry." Bill said.

Harry smiled.

"There is something more I would like to ask you." Bill continued. "Fleur and I were wondering, would you consider letting us have the wedding here at the Manor?"

"Oh please 'Arry!" Fleur said pleadingly "Et would be so beautiful!"

Harry smiled at her. "Hmm, I should have thought of that myself." Ginny squeezed his hand beneath the table. "I would be happy to, but it seems to me we will have to run it by more than me. What will your Mum think Bill?"

"Well, we'll have to break it to her gently I suspect." Bill responded.

"And we'll have to work out some security. Moody will probably be furious with me. And I would like to talk to my Grandparents about it." Harry paused. "And one other." Harry paused a second time. Then in a somewhat commanding tone he said, "Jarphred."

There was a "pop" and the House-elf appeared behind Harry. "Yes, Master Harry?"

"Jarvy, do you think we could throw a big wedding here at the house?" Harry asked.

Jarvy's eyes widened and a delighted smile crept across his lips.

"And, of course there will have to be tea parties beforehand, and a reception, not to mention a dance, and of course probably a bunch of house guests." Harry went on.

Jarvy bowed slightly. "Of course we can accommodate whatever is required, Master." Jarvy looked like he was about to burst with excitement.

"Oh! 'Arry, you are marvelous!" Fleur was up from her seat and came around to Harry, hugging him in his seat. "Zank you, zank you, you would do so much for me. Zank you so, so much!"

Fleur hugged Harry happily for a moment longer, and then she returned to her place and took Bill by the hand. "We, must go and talk to your Mothair immediately, we have so much planning to do." She practically pulled Bill to his feet.

"Thank you Harry. Thank you so much." Bill said. "It appears Fleur and I will be leaving now. Thanks for the tour, and for lunch."

"You are very welcome." Harry replied.

Once they had left, Hermione asked. "Do you think it is really wise Harry?"

"I'm not sure, Hermione, but I do think it will actually be safer than having the whole thing at The Burrow." Harry responded.

"I think you're quite right about that Harry," Lupin offered.

"Yes, but you're also right, Harry, I think Moody will be furious." Tonks said, giggling a little at the thought.

"I think it will be fun." Ginny offered. "Besides, the Manor is clearly built for entertaining."

"Well, you've certainly made Fleur happy." Hermione said. "She couldn't ask for a better wedding gift."

"I dunno," Tonks spoke, "You are talking about Fleur Delacour. She'll come up with something more."

They all laughed, not unkindly, but knowing that Tonks was probably right.

"Well, if we'll all finish our lunch, we can continue exploring the Manor. I still haven't seen a lot of the grounds," Harry offered.

"Quite right Harry," Lupin said, as he focused back on the food before him.

"Have you seen the Library yet?" Hermione asked Tonks, who shook her head no.

"Oh it's marvelous, bigger than Hogwart's, and..." Hermione went on and on, quite unlike herself as she explained the Library to Tonks and Lupin who listened indulgently.

Harry sat quietly, eating his lunch and listening to Hermione.

After lunch Hermione of course could not wait to get back to the Library. Harry and Lupin had a short discussion with Harry's Grandparents and then Lupin and Tonks went out to the carriage house to check on something Harry's Grandparents had mentioned.

That left Harry and Ginny to walk the grounds together. They walked hand in hand talking idly for a long time, circling the gardens and finally ending up at a stone pavilion.

Harry turned toward Ginny, taking her hands in his. "So, having a good day?"

"Of course I am," Ginny responded, looking at her feet. "You've made everyone's day Harry, what with the Library for Hermione, the wedding for Bill and Fleur, asking Tonks and Lupin to move in here. It's all quite wonderful."

"But... not so much for you, hey?" Harry gently lifted her chin. "You know I would have you move in too, but I really think your parents would hex me into oblivion if I dared even suggest it."

"I get that Harry, really I do." Ginny replied, looking him in the eyes.

Harry could see in her eyes that it really was alright. But, there was still something.

Ginny smirked. "But..." she pressed her finger to his chest. "We really have to do something about you hugging Hermione and Fleur, but not me."

Harry laughed.

"A girl could get jealous." Ginny winked at him.

Harry pulled Ginny into a long deep hug; which of course, turned into a kiss.

* * *

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**NEXT**

Chapter Fifteen

**Weasleys Reunited**


	16. Weasleys Reunited

Chapter Fifteen  
**Weasleys Reunited**

Kyne and Hedwig were perched somewhat impatiently on the windowsill of The Burrow sitting room. They had been there since sun-up, shuffling uneasily back and forth and cooing whenever someone passed through the room. Neither had been tasked to deliver anything for well over a week, so the large stack of wedding invitations in neat envelopes on the coffee table was understandably making them a bit anxious.

Ginny stepped from the stairs, still half asleep, heading toward the kitchen. Both owls called loudly, and she stopped. She crossed to the window and stroked each bird affectionately, trilling and cooing. She noticed the stack of envelopes and spoke empathetically to the owls. "I know, I know, you want to get at the deliveries, I understand." She trilled a bit more scratching gently at their breast feathers. "But, I'm sorry; you'll just have to wait, like the rest of us, for Fleur to give her final okay." Both birds looked up at Ginny with their wide dark eyes and made chittering noises that sounded to Ginny like they might have been a rather impolite complaint. The owls turned their heads toward the stack of envelopes, staring for another moment, then turned their heads back to Ginny, nudged her with genuine affection, then fluttered off into the morning mist.

Ginny pushed through the kitchen door crossing quickly toward the smell of brewing coffee.

"Good morning, Ginny, dear," Molly said warmly to her daughter.

"Morning, Mum," Ginny replied. "Fleur left the invitations out again," she said a little bitterly as she filled her cup and turned to the table.

"I saw, dear," her mother replied, looking up from the morning paper.

"Well, she's got the whole house riled up, and now she's even got Kyne and Hedwig upset with her," Ginny grumbled.

"Breakfast, Mistress Ginny?" Jarvy said, appearing with a "pop."

"Just toast please, Jarvy," Ginny replied, "Thank you."

Jarvy set a beautiful plate of Eggs Benedict, garnished with a sprig of mint and several sliced strawberries in front of Molly. "Your breakfast, Mrs. Weasley."

"Thank you, Jarvy," Molly said in a rather monotone voice.

Jarvy stepped back from the table and was gone again.

"Still trying to challenge him, Mum?" Ginny asked.

"Honestly," Molly leaned toward Ginny and whispered, "I ask for things I know we don't have, and he just pops off to the Manor and gets them," she said in a defeated tone. "I appreciate him, but I really want my kitchen back."

Ginny patted her mother's hand with understanding. "Just a couple weeks more, Mum," she whispered back.

Ginny sipped from her mug closing her eyes for a moment savoring the warmth; then the moment was over. She turned to her Mother, who was hidden by the turned up paper. "Anything interesting in the _Prophet_?" She asked.

"More terrible reports out of Eastern Europe; things are really going badly there," Molly said, and her voice broke.

Ginny pushed the paper down and looked at her mother. Tears were starting to slip down her cheeks. "What is it Mum?" she asked with concern.

"Oh, dear," Molly patted Ginny's hand now, "I'm just being overly emotional."

"It's Charlie, isn't it?" Ginny said knowingly, "Has something happened?"

"No... Well, at least I hope not. We just haven't heard from him in almost two months," Molly wiped her face with a kerchief from her apron.

Ginny got up from her chair and moved to hug her Mother.

"It's just..." Molly sobbed, "With all that's happened in Romania and him way up in the mountains at that Dragon Reserve. I can't help but worry what might have happened."

Ginny patted her Mother's back, letting Molly hold her as firmly as she needed to. "I wouldn't worry too much, Mum. Charlie is way too clever to get caught up in anything he can't get out of."

"Here, here, well said, sis!" came a strong voice through the open kitchen window.

Molly raised her head almost in shock, "Charlie?" she said.

The Garden door flew open and in walked a rather scruffy, bedraggled looking Charlie Weasley. He dropped a heavy rucksack on the floor with a thud and held out his arms for his expected hug.

"Charlie!" Molly screamed as she leaped from her chair and pulled her son into a massive embrace. "Oh Charlie is it really you? You're here!"

"Yes, Mum, It's really me," he hugged her back.

The sitting room door burst open. Arthur Weasley rushed into the room, wand drawn. "What's all this?" he was yelling. Behind him were Ron and Harry, also with wands drawn, and coming down the stairs across the room were Bill and Fleur, with Hermione close behind.

"Molly, step back," Arthur commanded.

"But, Arthur, its Charlie," Molly protested.

"I see, Molly, but we have to be sure," Arthur insisted.

Charlie chuckled. "Right you are, Dad. Give me a test," he said.

"I've got one," Bill said from the doorway, "your fifth year, after the final match for the Quidditch cup, I surprised you when I found you in an alcove just outside the Griffyndor Common room. What were you doing?"

"Snogging Cassie Hedgemour," Charlie replied with a broad grin.

Everyone in the room laughed. "That's our Charlie," Bill said triumphantly.

The room erupted into a flurry of welcoming hugs. There were questions about where he'd been and how he'd gotten home.

"Hang on, Hang on," Charlie said loud enough to quiet the questions, "I'm not alone. I've brought company." He stepped back to the still open door and waved in his unseen guests.

Two figures emerged from the morning mist and entered the kitchen. They were both covered by dark travelling cloaks with the hoods up, which made their appearance a little disconcerting at first. They quickly pulled back the hoods as they entered to reveal two women. Both had raven black wavy hair and bright sky blue eyes, the elder appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, had pleasantly angular features and dark olive skin. She was at least as tall as Charlie. The younger, who could not have been older than twenty, by appearance, had a rounder softer face and fuller lips with skin just slightly lighter than the elder. She was half a head shorter. They were both strikingly beautiful.

"Mom, Dad, everyone, this is Alexandrina Burgestikoff, Chief Keeper Trainer, and Second Chief Keeper, of the Romanian Dragon Reservation," Charlie said formally.

The older of the two women bowed slightly. "There is no need to be so formal Charles. Please to call me Alex," her voice was throaty, and heavily accented. "I believe I met your parents when they 'wisited you at the reserve," she nodded specifically to Molly and Arthur, who smiled with recognition.

"This is her daughter, Helena," Charlie said, gesturing to the younger woman.

Helena curtsied; "I am very pleased to meet you all," Helena's voice was much softer and far less heavily accented.

Charlie took Helena's hand. "When we were forced to flee the Reservation, I refused to leave Helena behind," he said, smiling at the young woman, and then at his family.

"And I 'vould not be parted, in such dark times, from my only child," Alex added.

"I insisted that they would be welcome here," Charlie finished.

"Of course, of course," Arthur spoke up, "please come in, sit, eat, you all look a bit travel weary."

Everyone crowded around the large kitchen table, which was now suddenly laden with several breakfast platters. There were introductions all around and many, many questions.

Arthur sent Patronus messages to Fred, George and Percy. About twenty minutes later the twins Apparated to The Burrow eager to see their older brother.

After everyone had finished eating, Molly offered to let Charlie and the Burgestikoffs get cleaned up, and asked if they needed to sleep, but her offer was politely refused. Charlie asked that Mad-Eye Moody be contacted. They wanted to give him a report on the situation in Romania, and both women were eager to join the Order of the Phoenix.

Upon receiving the Patronus, Moody arrived by Floo equally eager to receive their report.

Moody came through the sitting room fireplace in a swirl of green smoke and flying ash, followed by Remus Lupin. Harry suspected that Moody rather liked the more dramatic entrance of the floo as he could have easily Apparated. There were perhaps advantages to arriving inside over possibly being seen arriving outside, but as no one had ever brought it up, Harry was inclined to think it was more about drama.

Moody dashed his coat for ashes, which had the effect of creating more of a cloud around him, than clearing any actual debris from his coat. His magical eye scanned the room.

Lupin straightened himself behind the more imposing Moody.

Before any introductions could be made Alexandrina stood up, "Alastor Moody, you old reprobate. I have not seen you since the Skorzeny case in 1972, yes? You still like the dramatic entrances I see."

The room went quiet as everyone looked between Alex and Moody. Harry could not suppress a soft chuckle, his suspicions confirmed, which brought Moody's magical eye straight to him. He quickly straightened himself.

"Alexandrina Dalca, it's been a long time," Moody said, "I heard you gave up your Auror post to go chasing dragons with that boy, what was his name, Burgestikoff?"

"I married him," Alex replied.

"And how is Grigori?" Moody asked congenially.

"Alas, he is no more, killed by his own dragons some fifteen years ago," Alex said sadly.

The room was silent again.

"You knew my father, Sir?" Helena broke the silence.

Moody looked between mother and daughter. "And who have we here?"

"Helena Burgestikoff, Sir," Helena stood and bowed slightly.

"Yes," Moody looked between mother and daughter again, and then smiled kindly, in as much as it was possible for him to do so. "Yes, I knew your father before your parents were married... Only briefly, you understand. Still, I may have a few stories you would like to hear."

Helena smiled brightly and sat back down next to Charlie.

"Now, as nice as it is to renew old acquaintances, I'm here for a report on the situation in Romania," Moody said.

Everyone listened intently as Charlie began to explain what they had seen happening and how they had escaped.

The Wizarding Ministries in that part of the world had been, for some time, slowly falling under the influence of Lord Voldemort. While there was Death Eater activity, there seemed to be far less of it as there was already much more conflict and ethnic tension inherent in the whole of Eastern Europe.

Among the Wizards of the area, these ethnic tensions had already manifested as anti-Muggle sentiment, so the roots of Voldemort's agenda was much nearer the surface; a flame, ready to be fanned.

As Voldemort gained more and more influence over regional leaders, there came the rise of a political faction that drew upon anti-Muggle sentiments. It grew so terrible that all Muggle-borns and suspected Mixed-bloods became subject to a registry and were eventually made to wear a badge that identified them. A yellow "M" for Muggle-born, and a red "M" for Mixed-blood. In the previous few months things had become so bad that Muggle-born Witches and Wizards were being rounded up and forced to live in particular areas separate from the rest of Wizarding society. Sanctioned gangs of "pure-blood" Wizards began scouring the country to hunt down the un-registered.

When they came to the Dragon Reserve they had a list of names, including names of suspected sympathizers.

"Alex feared that my name would be on that list," Charlie said, "and she was right. I hid up in the mountains in one of the Dragon caves, along with other non-Romanian trainers."

"They were very interested in capturing Charles and taking him for questioning," Alex continued. "They separated a few of our apprentice trainees for registration, they 'vere not kind. One of the men protested and was killed where he stood," she paused. "When they could not find Charles, they became very angry. We told them that he had fled, along with the other international trainers at the reserve, to return to his homeland. They called us all sympathizers and threatened to take us all away, but I was able to convince them that we had been abandoned there. They burned our station and all of the buildings, and told us to go to our homes for a census."

"After they had gone," Charlie cut in, "we escaped across the reserve eastward. We stayed in the mountains as long as we could, following the Carpathians North into Ukraine. From there, we went east again, traveling like Muggles to avoid any magical detection. Most of the group split off to go to their respective countries. Only Hans Jorgensen remained with us. We slowly made our way into Russia and eventually north to St. Petersburg. After a few days hiding there, with Hans' contacts, we were able to cross into Finland and get on a Muggle ship from Helsinki to Stockholm. In Sweden, Hans helped us get across the country to Oslo, where we said our goodbyes and boarded a ship from there to Newcastle. We arrived this morning and felt it would be safe to Apparate here. So, here we are."

After the story had been told, Moody had lots of questions. They discussed the goings on in Eastern Europe in greater detail for some time.

Eventually the Twins excused themselves and left to open their shop. Molly peeled away, taking Ginny and Hermione to go make the Twins old bedroom suitable for guests.

By lunch, Moody seemed satisfied that he understood everything Charlie and the Burgestikoff's could tell him and everyone gathered in the Kitchen for a good meal.

After lunch, before Moody and Lupin departed, Harry was able to catch them for a word about the Manor. Moody brought up a few security concerns about holding Bill and Fleur's wedding there, but reluctantly conceded that there could be nothing nefarious found about the Manor. He agreed that Harry could visit as he liked without escort.

When Fleur came into the sitting room, complaining loudly about some fabric that was, unfortunately, unavailable, and insisting that someone must have nicked her seating chart; that was everyone's cue to make their departures.

Harry went upstairs to retrieve the _Portis Omnibus_ from beneath his bed. On his way back down he overhead Bill and Charlie talking in Bill's room. His curiosity made him stop to listen.

The conversation was about women and marriage. Bill was saying something about "The Bonding" that Harry did not understand. Charlie reassured his brother that it was nothing to worry about. If it hadn't happened yet, it surely would in its place during the ceremony. Then he confessed that it had already occurred between him and Helena, which was the whole reason that he had not returned to England alone. Bill congratulated Charlie, but Charlie quickly asked him to keep it quiet for a while so that none of the focus would come off the wedding, saying that he did not want to steal any of Fleur's excitement. At that point, Harry felt terribly guilty that he was eavesdropping. He continued on his way down the stairs.

When Harry got to the sitting room, Fleur and Helena were sitting together going over the guest list and seating chart in rapid French. Fleur called to him and asked once more if her guests must arrive at The Burrow. Harry assured her that there was no other way, but that he and the Twins were working out a plan to make the transfer of guests to the Manor more befitting the event than coming through The Burrow kitchen. Fleur seemed unsure but agreed that she must trust Harry on this, and asked if the owls might be ready to begin delivering the invitations.

Harry nodded, then gathered up the stack of invitations and took them to the kitchen. There he, Ginny, Hermione and Ron separated them into stacks by location. There was no need to call the owls as they appeared on the kitchen window sill shortly after the sorting had started. Hedwig was given the large pouch of international invitations, which needed to be delivered to the International Owl Post Office, near Dover. The rest were divided so that each owl could make deliveries according to its own best ability.

With the owls happily on their way, Mr. Weasley gone to work and Bill and Charlie apparently hiding in Bill's room. There remained only Molly and Fleur who seemed to be deeply entrenched in wedding planning in the sitting room. The Burgestikoffs had finally retired to the Twins' room for a badly needed rest.

The quartet decided that, with the restriction lifted, there was nothing stopping them from slipping off to the Manor for the afternoon. They left a note on the Kitchen table saying they would be back for supper, and off they went.

* * *

Hermione had insisted on showing Ron the Library right away. Ron was extremely impressed, though there was no hiding that any size library would still just be a collection of books to Ron.

More rewarding was the reaction of the Dumbledore card, which Harry had remembered to bring with him. He had not brought it on any previous visits as they had all been escorted and the existence of the Dumbledore base was to remain secret for the time being. Harry set the Collector's base on one of the central tables in the Library and dropped in the card. Harry had already described much of the Manor to Dumbledore, but seeing it now the little card was suitably impressed. He readily agreed that the Library was easily larger than the one at Hogwarts.

They fell into an easy conversation about what had been happening over the last couple of weeks, bringing Dumbledore current on events in Europe and activities at The Burrow. Including what they had just heard from Charlie and the Burgestikoffs'. Harry apologized that he had not had the base out very much because of fear he would be discovered at the busy Burrow.

Dumbledore dismissed his apologies politely, agreeing "It was indeed prudent."

After a short time, they began to discuss the need to locate and begin to destroy the remaining Horcruxes. They reviewed what they knew, at which point the Dumbledore card surprised them by declaring that it thought it knew the identity of, R.A.B.

"It occurred to me, Harry, when you first recounted the story at your Aunt and Uncle's house. Our mysterious R.A.B. may very likely be Regulus Arcturus Black, Sirius' younger brother," Dumbledore said. "He was a fine boy and a good student at Hogwarts, though he and his brother seldom saw eye-to-eye. He was in Slytherin House, and he was young when he became a Death Eater," Dumbledore sighed. "Very sad; still, if he had somehow become aware of Voldemort's efforts to conceal Horcruxes, it might have been enough to cause him a change of heart."

"Hey, hang on," Ron cut in, "fifth year, summer at Grimmauld Place; do you all remember the cleaning Mum made us do?"

Harry, Ginny and Hermione nodded.

"In the drawing room, in the glass cabinets there were lots of magical objects. Do any of you remember a locket? The one none of us could open?" Ron asked.

"I remember it," Ginny interrupted, "it was a heavy thing, gold, and it had a snake on it, made kind of an 'S'."

"You think we had it right then, and we just didn't know it?" Hermione questioned.

"That could very possibly be," Dumbledore said concernedly, "which would mean that a search could be made of Grimmauld Place."

"But, didn't Sirius chuck it in the rubbish sacks with everything else?" Ron asked.

"Then who knows where it could be," Hermione said, sounding a bit defeated.

"Kreacher probably nicked it from the rubbish. I can ask him for a start," Harry said.

"Very good, Harry. That is at least a beginning," Dumbledore said.

Together they determined that they needed to somehow uncover the location of Helga Hufflepuff's golden cup, and do some research to try to find candidate items that could have belonged to the remaining Founders, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Godric Gryffindor.

Additionally, Hermione wanted to find out everything she could about Horcruxes, especially how they were made, and how they might be destroyed. She wasted no time at all uncovering books with sections on dark magic.

In the Hogwarts' entire Library, Hermione had only uncovered one reference to Horcruxes. In the Manor Library, she was able to find three within twenty minutes. They were all references, none giving any more information than they already knew. Still, it made Hermione tremendously hopeful that she would be able to find much more.

Dumbledore proposed caution on the matter, but he too seemed genuinely interested in what the Library might be able to offer.

As the afternoon wore on, Ginny, Ron and Harry, grew a little weary of searching through the shelves. They decided they wanted to go check out the Manor's Quidditch pitch. When they suggested taking a break to Hermione she grumbled a little and told them to go ahead without her.

Likewise, the Dumbledore card chose to remain in the Library. There was a large book propped up before it and a bluish Pixie was lazing nearby chomping on a gumdrop and obediently turning pages.

* * *

The Quidditch Pitch was a full regulation size field, complete with six observation towers each containing seating for up to fifty. The whole oval pitch was surrounded by bleachers, and there were identical locker rooms on either side.

"Blimey Harry, this is a full professional set up," Ron observed as they walked through the first locker room, toward the actual Pitch. "We could get in loads of practice here," he beamed.

Along one of the walls was a series of team photos from matches that had been played on the Pitch. Ron was surprised and pleased to see nearly every UK team represented there. Including, his beloved Canons.

Ginny discovered the door to the equipment room and was surprised to find it unlocked. She slipped in and came back out with a broom. "Look at this old thing," she said releasing the broom so that it hovered at her side. It was actually quite a pleasant broom, well finished, straight and presumably accurate. But it was, as Ginny described it, old. "There are about twenty of these in there," she nodded to the doorway.

"That's a Moontrimmer," Ron exclaimed! "Those predate the Cleansweep series. The only place I have ever seen one is in the Quidditch Museum."

"Well, it makes sense with the Manor closed all this time," Harry said, "I suppose all the equipment is outdated?"

Ginny smiled and nodded. "There are pads and robes in there too, but they all belong in the Quidditch Museum."

Ron pushed past Ginny and entered the equipment room. He returned with two more Moontrimmers. "She's right, Mate," Ron said, "that's a room full of relics, that is," he handed one of the brooms to Harry.

They stepped out onto the pitch and mounted their brooms. Ginny was first to kick off, followed by Harry and Ron. They arched into a lazy turn clockwise around the pitch. They flew in formation two turns around.

"Feels good to be back on a broom, don't it?" Ron yelled. Harry and Ginny smiled nodding their heads in agreement.

"Pretty stable brooms, but I doubt they're very fast," Ginny called.

Harry flew up close to Ginny, smiling. He leaned over toward her. Ginny leaned in, thinking he was about to say something. "Tag, you're it!" Harry yelled, lightly tapping Ginny's leg. He zoomed straight up into an overhead arc and came over heading the opposite direction. Both Ginny and Ron stared for a moment, both impressed by Harry's maneuvers on the old Moontrimmer. Then Ron, catching on, darted off across the Pitch. Ginny swung around and came after her brother, casing him up around one of the towers and past one set of goal posts. They were all laughing happily.

Harry came around the opposite direction and passed between her and Ron, and she reached for him, but he was just out of arm's length.

Ginny rolled and arched upward building height above Ron, then she leaned into her broom handle and dived, gaining speed. She slipped right up behind him and slapped him on the arm. "Tag," she yelled as she darted away in a rapid turn.

Ron chased after Harry for a couple of minutes, but every time he got close, Harry would roll away or flip over and dive, or arc upwards into an overhead turn. Ron knew he was outmatched trying to catch either of them, even on the old brooms.

Harry zoomed over when it seemed Ron was giving up. "Ron, don't try to catch us, you're a Keeper, fly the way you know how," he yelled.

Ron gave that a few seconds thought and then he slowed almost to a stop. Ginny was laughing and swooping, she came along the pitch edge fast. She was a good three meters to Ron's right. At the last second, Ron moved straight sideways to intercept her and tagged her arm as she zoomed past. "Tag," He yelled triumphantly!

They had been chasing one another for what seemed a fairly short time, when Hermione appeared on the pitch below them. They all seemed to spot her at once, and they swept down to land near her.

As they dismounted, Hermione was pulling one of her faces that showed she would never truly appreciate the joy of flying. None-the-less, she was clearly happy to see them each enjoying themselves.

"You do know you have been out here over two hours, don't you?" she asked, "I was starting to wonder where you'd gotten to."

"Sorry, Love, I guess we just kind'a lost track of time," Ron genuinely apologized. He stepped right up to her happily and gave her a quick peck. Hermione blushed but kissed him back just the same.

They walked back through the locker room and put their brooms away. Harry had them take a quick inventory of the equipment and proposed that they should order new equipment to replace everything. Ginny and Ron were both quite keen on that idea, making mental notes about what would be needed. They closed up the locker room and started toward the Manor.

The two couples, each walking arm in arm made their way lazily up the manicured walking path to the garden entrance. They passed through the garden quickly and made their way to the entrance nearest the Library.

"Hermione," Harry said as they were coming to the center of the room, "I've been thinking about the Hogwarts founders."

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said in acknowledgement.

"How we might find out about things that they possessed... things that might have been good candidates for Horcruxes," Harry said.

"And?" Hermione prompted.

"Well, I was thinking about the magic that my Grandparents used to conceal my family from interest, and to protect this place," Harry continued. "And I wondered what sort of far reaching effects it might have had," he paused. "This might sound dumb, but I wondered if it might have effected editions of books that came out after the Manor was hidden. Say like, _Hogwarts: a History. _I thought there might be earlier editions of such books in this Library that would contain things that have been inadvertently left out of newer copies."

"That's brilliant, Harry," Hermione said excitedly, "I should have thought of that myself." She began looking at the shelves, obviously considering Harry's suggestion.

Harry went to the central table and asked the Dumbledore card if it was ready to head back to The Burrow.

"That would be fine," Dumbledore responded.

Harry pulled the card from the slot and pocketed the pewter base.

"We had best head back for supper," Harry said, stepping back to take Ginny's hand. "We can look into that possibility when we come back again."

* * *

Once back at The Burrow, Harry headed directly upstairs to stow the _Portis Omnibus_ beneath his bunk. As he hit the stairs, he could hear Ron and Ginny being recruited by their mother to help set up the garden for an outdoor dinner. He felt only slightly guilty for escaping before he could be recruited as well.

On his way back down, he heard a heavy thump come from Ginny's room. It sounded as though someone had fallen to the floor. As he came to the open doorway, he found that he was not far wrong. Hermione was standing before her open school trunk and had dropped a rather large book onto the floor. He chuckled slightly at her stricken expression, and the way she was carefully checking the binding for damage. Her alarm quickly turned to relief upon finding it intact.

"Need any help in here?" he said casually as he entered the room.

"Oh! No," she said slightly surprised, "Crookshanks startled me and my book slipped. But it's okay." The large Ginger fur-ball emerged from beneath Ginny's bed indignantly, and meowed at her, almost as though, guilty or not, he didn't appreciate being blamed.

"That's a pretty big book," Harry observed out loud.

"Yeah, it's my copy of_ Hogwarts: a History_, " Hermione replied. "I was just thinking about what you said, and I wanted to take a quick look at it before I search for a copy in the Manor Library."

Harry plopped himself down on the window seat.

Not bothering to get up from the floor, Hermione turned so that she could lean against the bed. She picked up the thick tome and pulled into her lap. She thought Harry looked a bit pensive. "Is something the matter Harry?" she asked.

Harry looked up. "No, no. I was just thinking about the wedding."

"Ah," Hermione acknowledged, not quite knowing why Harry might have any thought at all about the subject.

"It's just that... Well, I've never been to a wedding, Muggle or Wizard, so I really know nothing about them," Harry said with the tiniest hint of embarrassment. "In fact, I would have to say that I don't know much about marriage at all. Except what I have seen on the telly in very small bits; and that of course never seems to work out. Well, aside from couples who are older and have already been married quite a long time," Harry laughed a little at himself.

"Hmm," Hermione collected her thoughts. "That's quite the subject Harry," she seemed to be examining him intently from across the room, "any particular reason for the interest?"

Harry looked back at Hermione. She was smirking a bit mischievously. Harry didn't understand what that was about, so he simply answered the question.

"Just the upcoming wedding is all... Oh, and then I overheard Bill and Charlie talking about something they called 'The Bonding' and it seemed to be connected to marriage somehow."

"Really, Harry, sometimes I forget that while you are a Wizard, you weren't raised in a Wizard home," Hermione smiled. "Okay, I can tell you what I know, but it's mostly from reading about it." She set the heavy book off her lap back onto the floor. "Well, you do know what marriage is, it's when a couple commits their lives together. You know married couples, like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and your Aunt and Uncle. It seems like, in the Muggle world, marriage has become less and less meaningful over time. Or, at least, people seem to rush into it before they really know what they are getting into. That's why the divorce rate among Muggles is something like thirty-five percent. The very first thing I suppose you ought to know is that there is no divorce in Wizard society. When a Witch and Wizard get married it is for life."

Hermione adjusted herself against the side of the bed, crossing her legs. "The big difference seems to be, what's called 'The Bonding.' It is some sort of magical connection that forms between a Wizard and a Witch when they are truly in love with one another. What I have read describes it as a linking of their souls so that they really and truly know one another."

"So, like, they can read each other's minds or something?" Harry asked.

"No, not really, at least I don't imagine so. More like they know how each other feels about things. It's supposedly an extremely intimate emotional connection. Some things I have read say that it makes it so that you cannot lie to someone with whom you are bonded. But, other sources have said that is not true. In any case, it is a unique magical connection," Hermione paused, looking like she was trying to remember.

"So how does it happen?" Harry asked, taking advantage of the slight lull.

"Well, again, according to what I have read, it can happen pretty much any time within a couple's relationship," Hermione said, "though, it has sort of become the expectation that it happens either before, or during the wedding ceremony." Hermione blushed slightly, "there is also some suggestion that it often happens when a couple first consummates their relationship physically. Which now-a-days seldom means on their wedding night."

Harry shifted on the window seat and tugged a little at his collar.

"It doesn't seem to be something a couple can control. There are lots of accounts of marriages were it hasn't happened, and some where it's happened years into the marriage. There are even a few accounts of it happening between people who never actually get married, and never have, what you would consider, a married relationship. But, the normal expectation is that it happens when a couple professes their love for one another in complete honesty. Therefore, it has become linked to the wedding ceremony. I don't know enough about it to know if there is any sort of stigma associated with it not being evidenced in the ceremony," Hermione paused again. "Oh, and it is extremely rare that it happens before the age of seventeen, which I guess has something to do with why seventeen is considered the age of adulthood in Wizard society."

"Hmm," Harry responded, "I guess I sort of understand now." There was a brief silence. "Okay, but what about weddings? I still have never been to one," Harry said.

"Well, I have only ever been to one or two myself," Hermione smiled slightly. "From what I can tell there are not a lot of differences between Wizard and Muggle ceremonies. They still are highly formal affairs, with all the usual trappings, wedding gowns and wedding rings, and vows, etc. There will be a representative from the Ministry to preside over the ceremony just like a vicar would do in a Muggle ceremony. I have quite a bit of curiosity about it myself, and I am looking forward to witnessing Bill and Fleur's ceremony."

Harry still looked a little lost in thought.

"I can do a little more research about it if you are still curious," Hermione suggested.

"Oh, no," Harry replied, "I was just curious because I overhead Bill and Charlie."

Crookshanks crawled up into Hermione's lap. Hermione began to scratch at his neck in a way that he obviously enjoyed. Harry could hear the purring from across the room.

"Well, if you really want to know more, you could always ask Bill," Hermione suggested. "After all, he's the one getting married. Or, you could ask Charlie about bonding since he claims to be bonded with Helena. Personally, I kind of think that the bonding is nothing more than a variation on the_ Unbreakable Vow_, and the rest is all an old wives tale."

* * *

The homecoming supper for Charlie was a modest affair. Between the Weasleys and the house guests, it was a large enough group that moving to the garden for a cook out was more comfortable than crowding the kitchen.

After the events of the day, everyone was eager to have a good relaxing meal and do some catching up.

The Twins showed up in time for the meal, and everyone enjoyed the warm company and laughter that was the Weasley family together. Even the Burgestikoff's, who were the nearest to strangers among the group seemed to be extremely comfortable as though they had been family friends for years.

Harry wondered if that had something to do with the fact that Charlie and Helena were "bonded" even though that was not yet public knowledge. Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione or Dumbledore about it. Somehow, it didn't seem to him to be a topic to discuss with Ginny.

As the meal got into full course, there was a set of soft "pops" near the garden gate and to everyone's surprise Percy appeared along with Penelope Clearwater. He entered the garden gate and approached the table a bit nervously. Penelope remained at his elbow smiling congenially clearly there to support Percy.

Everyone stopped eating and looked at him in silence. Molly tried to get up, but Arthur held her arm and prevented it. She started to say something to Arthur, but he silenced her with a squeeze of the arm.

Harry glanced around the table quickly. Most everyone's expressions were somewhat dumbfounded, but not angry. Ron looked a little angry, but not nearly as much as Harry would have thought. Clearly no one had expected Percy to turn up.

Ginny gave Harry's hand a squeeze beneath the table. It made him wonder if he perhaps looked angry. He turned and smiled at her. She smiled in return.

Percy cleared his throat. "I have come this evening because I received your message Dad, and I wanted to see Charlie," he paused. He appeared even more nervous now. "But also, because I knew that the whole family would be here," he paused again clearing his throat once more. "Over the last couple of years as I have attempted to seat my career with the Ministry, there have been a great many changes, and in an effort to forward my position I have been guilty of siding against the family. It is easy to see with hindsight that I was wrong. I felt that my faith and loyalty needed to be with the Ministry, I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, that when you work for a man like the Minister of Magic you owe him your belief and loyalty completely. So even though it pained me to keep faith with the Minister against my own family, and friends, I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do."

There were low murmuring reactions around the table, and at least one gasp from Mrs. Weasley. Percy pushed forward. "Time has proven out that the Ministry is no better than the perceptions, desires and fears of our elected leaders, and I find that I have been very guilty of following our leaders with blind devotion; so blindly, in fact, that I participated whole heartedly in forwarding their misguided agenda. I now understand that I helped to spread fear and delusion against a truth that fear and paranoia were preventing our previous Minister from facing. I realize that our leaders must be questioned and that blind faith accomplishes nothing when it flies in the face of the facts," Percy stopped, as though he felt his was losing his point. He recomposed himself.

"I am happy to say that our new Minister appears to be embracing the facts. But, even the feeling that I am following a better leadership does not excuse my actions of the past. I have a better understanding now of what the facts are, but I have come to the conclusion that I must seek my own understanding. And, that I must make apologies where they are due. To that end, I have come here now to apologize for my lack of faith in all of you. Not because I now see that you were all right all along, but because I see that I was wrong. When I disagreed with you, it was because of my own ambitions, and because I failed to listen. I failed to give you the consideration that you deserved as individuals, and devotion that you deserve as family. I am truly sorry."

Arthur released Molly's arm, and she was up from the table, rushing toward Percy. She pulled him in to a huge embrace. Penelope stepped back a little and appeared to be crying happily.

Fred and George stood up at their spots at the table. Fred began, "Dad, family, if we may?" there was no real pause for an answer.

George continued seamlessly, "Percy, you have always been a bit of a git when it comes to rules and regulations and such. Personally, Fred and I have always found it a bit annoying."

Fred picked up the thought, "Still, you are our brother, so we have always accepted you."

George cut in, "Teased you terribly we know, but always accepted."

Fred continued, "So we feel it is only fitting that we point out to you now that among your many habits, is a tendency to ramble when you are nervous, and to make the simplest of tasks, rather complicated."

George finished, "All any of us really needed to hear, was a simple 'I'm sorry'," he paused to pick up his glass, indicating to everyone to do the same. "I think I speak for the whole family in saying, Welcome home, Percy."

Everyone tipped their glass in agreement. "So, how many times did you practice that speech?" Fred asked, bringing a chorus of laughter from around the table. Percy gave him a wry, embarrassed smile.

Places were made for Percy and Penelope at the table. Food was passed, and by dessert it was as if there had never been a rift in the family.

There was a lot of catching up to do, as well as introductions to be made, and the meal continued well in to the darkness of the evening.

Once the dishes were cleared, and the tables put away, a large fire was built, and the camaraderie continued with a few bottles of fire-whisky that the Twins produced from their robes.

Arthur and Molly were the first to excuse themselves as they said their "goodnights," reminded everyone, especially the youngest, not to stay up too late, and headed into the house to retire.

* * *

In their room, Arthur and Molly were getting ready for bed. Molly stood at the window looking out on the garden where the fire still burned, and everyone was sitting around it. She casually dragged her hair brush through her hair.

Arthur came up behind her, hugging her, "Happy to have the whole family together in one place?"

"Oh, yes, Arthur, it's wonderful," she said with a sentimental catch in her voice.

"It's going to be growing before too long, I would imagine," Arthur said, "What with Bill marrying Fleur, and from the look of it Charlie is not far behind him with marriage plans."

"And Percy too," Molly replied, "From the way he seems bonded to Penelope."

"I would hazard from the look of things that Harry and Hermione will become official members of the family eventually, though that can wait a good while as far as I'm concerned," Arthur said.

"So you think we have a glimpse of the future, sitting right out there around a fire in the garden?" Molly said thoughtfully.

"I expect so," Arthur said, pulling Molly from the window toward their bed.

Molly hummed a happy tune as she pulled back the covers and got into bed next to her husband.

Arthur reached out and flicked his wand from the nightstand causing all the lamps in the room to dim and flicker out.

"They are all nice matches, don't you think?" Molly said in the darkness.

"Yes... Yes I think they are," Arthur replied through a yawn.

"Even Fleur," Molly asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Dear... Even Fleur," Arthur said his voice drifting already.

There was a long silence, during which Arthur began to snore quietly.

"Arthur?" Molly said with a sudden sense of concern.

Arthur snorted but didn't truly reply.

"What ever can we do about the twins?" Molly said.

* * *

**_Please review - Thanks!_**

**NEXT**  
Chapter Sixteen  
**Happy Birthday Harry**


	17. Happy Birthday Harry

Chapter Sixteen  
**Happy Birthday Harry**

* * *

Harry stood before the bathroom mirror rubbing his chin and examining his reflection. He did not look any different than any other morning. Nor did he feel particularly different. The stubble on his chin was an every morning occurrence and had been now for a couple of years. He reached in to his toiletries case and drew out his shaving kit. With his wet shaving brush he worked the tub of shaving soap building up a rich lather before applying it to his face. His beard was still quite thin and sparse in spots but it was certainly enough that he required a morning shave. He knew that there was a hair removal spell that had been developed by some Wizard somewhere for dealing with this daily ritual. As he stood there stropping his blade, he recalled the morning a few years before when he had asked Ron about it.

"Yeah, Mate, there is a spell, but some things are just more satisfying without magic," Ron had said sagely, as he dragged his own razor along his chin.

It was Ron who had taught him this skill. Ron who had helped him pick and order a shaving kit by owl post. And, as Harry pulled the straight razor across his cheek, enjoying the smooth feel of the hard edge through the creamy lather, he thought, it was Ron who deserved credit for passing on a lot of knowledge that he would have lacked without the presence of a father in his life. Harry wondered briefly if Ron could use a new shaving kit for Christmas. It was a way off, but it might be a nice gift and a veiled "thank you" that Ron would understand.

Harry finished off his chin and upper lip and wiped his face, admiring his whiskerless appearance. He hopped in the shower and emerged a short time later, refreshed and ready to face the day. He had a full agenda, he knew, but he suspected there would be a few surprises as well. He hoped nothing he would need to be too on guard for, but that was also a possibility.

As the days had been warm Harry pulled on a short sleeve button down and pair of cargo shorts so that he would not be too hot. Dressed and ready, He made his way down the hall, noting the silence of all the rooms. It occurred to him that even Ron had gotten up before him and that was a bit odd. It was very seldom that Harry was the last down to breakfast. He crossed the sitting room and pushed the kitchen door not giving it another thought.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" came a chorus of voices in the kitchen. Harry smiled broadly and joined everyone at the table.

"Feel any different, Harry?" Charlie asked.

"No, I can't say that I do," Harry replied, "but, maybe that's just because I have so much to do today."

"So, presents now, or later?" Mrs. Weasley asked, making a sweeping gesture toward a pile of brightly wrapped gifts on the counter under the window.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I am thinking, later, if you all don't mind," Harry replied as he leaned forward and stabbed at a couple of sausages from the platter in front of him.

"That's it Harry, wonderful resolve," Mr. Weasley said, chuckling a little, "business to attend to first aye. Are you two ready for your apparition testing?" he asked, including Ron in the question.

Harry grinned and nodded his mouth too full of breakfast to reply. Ron was doing the same. In fact they had been practicing for the test during the past week and a half. That was the wonderful thing about being in the Weasley household; even though underage magic use was in principal forbidden, the trackers at the Ministry couldn't tell if magic in such a large home was cast specifically by the underage Wizard. Consequently, both he and Ginny were relatively free to use magic while there, without fear that the Ministry would come to investigate. Still, Harry was glad that sometime during the day he would be free of the underage restriction.

Breakfast turned out to be as loud and boisterous an affair, as any time you gathered that many Weasleys around a single table. Usually, there were not so many questions directed toward Harry, but it being his Birthday, today was a bit of an exception. Mostly everyone wanted to be on the same schedule, so that was the main topic of conversation. After breakfast Harry was going with Ron, Mr. Weasley, Charlie and the Burgestikoffs to the Ministry where he and Ron would complete their apparition tests. The testing had been arranged by the Minister for Harry's Birthday at Harry's request. The Burgestikoffs had an appointment at the _Wizarding Immigration Office_, part of the _Department of International Magical Cooperation_. After finishing their tests, Ron would go on to the Twin's shop and Harry had arranged to meet with Reinhold Prächt, to formally complete his inheritance. As there were some papers that Harry would have to file with the Ministry, he had asked to have the meeting there and had been granted use of the Minister's conference room.

Assuming that all of that went as quickly as Harry hoped he was planning on meeting Ron, Hermione and Ginny for lunch in Diagon Alley. This idea had been met with some security concerns, but Harry had insisted that it was his Birthday, so eventually all had agreed. In the afternoon Harry intended to transfer his belongings to the Manor and settle in. Lupin, Tonks, Hermione and Ron, who would also be moving into the Manor, were to meet at the Weasley's at three o'clock.

As Bill and Fleur's wedding was in ten days, Fleur had convinced Harry that she and Bill should stay at the Manor as well so that she could oversee final wedding preparations.

Harry had invited the Burgestikoffs to stay in his home as well, at least until they could make more permanent living arrangements. At the Manor, at least, everyone would not be living on top of one another, and Harry sincerely hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would appreciate a bit more calm at The Burrow as that would leave only them, Ginny and Charlie. The final plan was for everyone to come to the Manor around seven o'clock for Harry's actual birthday party.

With the days plans all laid out to everyone's approval Breakfast was concluded and they all moved to the sitting room for departure to the Ministry. They were determining floo order when there were two distinct "pops" and Dobby, and a completely intoxicated looking Winky were standing there. Dobby was carrying a small brightly wrapped package complete with a ribbon and bow.

Dobby looked around the room sheepishly; he had obviously not anticipated so many people. He held out his gift, "Dobby has come to wish Harry Potter a most wonderful Happy Birthday," he said.

Harry knelt down to Dobby's height and accepted the gift. "Thank you, Dobby," Harry said. He looked over at Winky who wobbled a little and "hiccupped" quietly. "Is Winky okay?" Harry asked.

"Dobby does not let her out of his sight anymore," he smiled apologetically. "She is very unhappy in her freedom, and Dobby worries for her."

Harry nodded and proceeded to unwrap Dobby's gift. It was a pair of matching knit socks, purple with a pattern of gold stars and crescent moons. Harry smiled; Dobby was obviously getting quite good at knitting. "Thank you, Dobby, these are wonderful," he said.

"There is something else Dobby would like to ask Harry Potter," Dobby said, as he shuffled nervously.

"What is it Dobby?" Harry asked.

"Dobby is very worried about Winky, and he thinks he has come up with a way to save her from herself," Dobby said quietly stepping closer to Harry, and wringing his hands anxiously.

Harry was catching on and though the thought had not occurred to him previously, it suddenly seemed that it could make sense. "Dobby, are you trying to ask me if I will make Winky my house-elf?" Harry questioned.

Dobby nodded, "Harry Potter is seventeen now and Dobby thinks that he will be having a place of his own, and since Kreacher is very old, Dobby thought, if Harry Potter were to take another house-elf things would be easier for him," Dobby's eyes grew large and pleading, "also, Dobby does not want to leave Winky alone," he paused, looking embarrassed, "Dobby cares for Winky so much that Dobby hopes that Harry Potter will accept him as well, and Dobby and Winky can be together."

Harry was surprised at this. "But, Dobby, you are a free Elf. Why would you give up your freedom?" Harry asked.

"Dobby likes being free of his former Masters, and Dobby enjoys working at Hogwarts School," Dobby said quickly, "but, Dobby knows that it is part of an Elf's nature to be a servant. Being free elves makes Dobby and Winky a dishonor in the eyes of their own kind. Perhaps if there were more free elves... perhaps if other elves felt differently, being free would not be so hard."

"You are certain of this, Dobby?" Harry asked as he rubbed his chin in thought.

"Harry," Hermione piped up, "you can't really be considering this?"

"Actually, Hermione, I am considering it," Harry said, "especially if it is the best thing for Winky."

"Actually," Mr. Weasley spoke, "It is probably a good idea for Dobby as well. After all he may be a "free" Elf, but there is always the possibility that he could be captured and forced back into servitude... And, well, Dobby knows a bit too much to be allowed to fall in to the wrong hands."

Hermione looked rather aghast, and she stood shaking her head at Harry.

Harry looked around the room. Hermione was the only one that seemed to be having a difficult time with this turn of events. While Harry really didn't like the idea of forced Elf servitude he knew enough to know that it had been that way long enough that the Elves themselves had adapted to it. And, further, Winky was clearly not adapting to her freedom.

"Hermione," Harry said, "I really think that I can offer them a better life. I understand your objections, and in principal I agree with you, but in this case I have to think about security."

Hermione looked terribly sad, but she nodded to Harry in reluctant agreement.

"Dobby," Harry said, turning back to the anxious Elf, still fidgeting nervously in the center of the room. "Answer my question. Are you certain?"

"Dobby, worries, that what Mr. Weasley says is true. While Dobby can never be enslaved again by his former Master, or any member of the Malfoy house, the danger of being captured and returned to forced service is real," Dobby stopped wringing his hands, gesturing to Harry with open palms. "Dobby would not like to serve just anyone, but to be the servant of Harry Potter... that would truly be an honor, and Dobby knows that Harry Potter would be a good Master and allow Dobby and Winky to stay together."

Harry looked over to Winky, who didn't seem to be particularly aware of what was happening. "Winky," he said loudly, snapping his fingers in her face to get her attention. "Winky!" he said a little louder, "do you wish to have a new Master?"

Winky's eyes got big as she focused on Harry. She wobbled a little but kept her feet. "No one wants Winky," she said with a slur, "Winky has no one to call Master."

Harry took that as a yes.

"Well, can someone tell me how it's done?" Harry asked.

"It is really very simple," Alex said, "Just grab them by the ear, but it must be firm enough that they cannot pull away. Then simply say "I capture you in the name of the house of Potter, and claim you as a servant from this moment onward, for all time," she said.

"But, Harry," Mister Weasley added, "You have to speak with conviction and you must really mean it."

"It cannot be that simple," Harry replied a bit confused, "don't I need my wand or something to cast a spell?"

"Not at all Harry," Alex replied, "You have to understand, this is part of what makes the whole issue of House-elf slavery so complex. The binding magic does not come from the Wizard at all, it comes from the elf. It is part of their nature."

Harry nodded.

Dobby looked suddenly like he might run away. Harry wondered for a moment if it might be some kind of instinctive response. Dobby reached for Winky and his free hand began to rise like he would snap his fingers and Apparate away. But with practiced seeker reflexes, Harry was faster and he reached out with both hands and snatched each Elf by the end of an ear. Dobby jerked reflexively but Harry's grip was firm and though Dobby winced, he was suddenly smiling a broad smile that eased Harry's heart. Winky, seemed to become suddenly sober, but made no effort to free herself, she too looked happy in a slightly confused way.

"I capture you in the name of the house of Potter, and claim you as servants from this moment onward, for all time," Harry said in a loud firm voice.

Both house-Elves fell to their knees as a faint glow began to emanate from their ears where Harry held them tightly, the glowing grew golden as it spread through their little bodies until each Elf shined brightly for a moment, and then the effect was gone. Harry released them.

"Excellent," Alex said aloud, "you don't often see that sort of a golden effect. It means you have two very devoted servants."

Harry smiled at the two Elves who were slowly getting to their feet looking expectantly at their new Master. Winky appeared to be free of her intoxication and she was grinning and straightening herself, suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance. Dobby seemed to be examining himself, not as though he had lost himself, but as though he had discovered himself anew.

"Master Potter," Dobby spoke rather delightedly, testing the new way of referring to Harry, "Shall we go to your home at Grimmauld place and make it ready for you?"

"No," Harry said perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary, "you two will not be living at Grimmauld place."

This brought a frown of confusion to the Elves who never-the-less stood ready to be commanded.

"Jarphred," Harry called.

With a "pop" Jarphred appeared next to Harry. He seemed to take in the whole scene before him without a hint of surprise or confusion.

"Jarphred," Harry said pleasantly, "I have just secured you a bit of help with the Manor, even though I am quite sure you don't really need it," he said intending to flatter the devoted Elf. "This is Dobby and Winky," he gestured to the two Elves whose eyes had grown wide at the sudden appearance of another Elf. "Dobby, Winky, this is Jarphred," The Elves nodded to one another. "He is in charge of my household, where the two of you will now live; you are to follow his orders as though they are my own."

Dobby and Winky looked a little confused, and a bit excited, and nodded their understanding.

"Jarphred, you will take them home now and assign them living quarters, and duties," Harry said, "and please see that they are properly groomed and attired for their new home, I do not wish to see ragged tea towels on any servant of mine."

"Yes Master Harry," Jarvy replied as he bowed deeply.

Harry turned back to Dobby and Winky. "Go with Jarvy now, he will tell you all that you need to know. Everything you learn and see is to be kept strictly secret; you may tell no one about your new home do you understand?" Harry didn't pause for an answer, "I will see you both later today."

"Yes Master Harry." They bowed deeply.

Jarvy stepped forward and with a "pop" the elves disappeared.

Harry stood up.

"Well," Ron stepped forward, clapping Harry on the back, "Happy Birthday, Master Potter," he teased.

Harry gave Ron a quick elbow to the ribs grinning at the teasing, leaving Ron rubbing his side. Harry turned to the fireplace. "I suspect we should get going. Very sorry for the interruption," he said.

"Not at all, m'boy," Mr. Weasley said as he motioned the other travelers toward the grate, "I suspect Moody will be quite pleased with this turn of events."

Mr. Weasley took a handful of floo powder from the canister mounted on a bracket near the hearth, and stepped into the grate. He threw the powder at his feet and said "Ministry of Magic" in a firm clear voice. With a swirl of green smoke he was gone. Harry went next, followed by the others.

* * *

Upon arrival at the Ministry they had all gone to security were they had been put through wand checks and received their visitor badges. Afterward they had each gone to their separate appointments'. Mr. Weasley walked Ron and Harry to the Apparition testing room before going on to work.  
Harry had been pleased to find that the Apparition testing was conducted by Wilkie Twycross, who had been the instructor at Hogwarts. The test proved to be rather simple. Mr. Twycross had asked him and Ron to make several Apparitions to various spots marked around the large room. They had practiced so much that the requested apparitions were quite easily done. Mr. Twycross seemed quite pleased and congratulated them on making each successfully. He had left long enough to process their licenses in another room and then unceremoniously presented them. The whole ordeal had taken about half an hour.

After completing the test Harry walked with Ron down to the atrium. They congratulated each other happily and then Ron headed for Diagon Alley using one of the public fireplaces. Harry turned on his spot and headed toward the Minister's office in anticipation of his next meeting.

Harry arrived at the last hallway, where he could see the very prim; rather severe looking young Witch sitting at her desk. As before, when she noticed him she leaned down and touched whatever it was that she appeared to speak into. The Security guards snapped to attention on either side of the hall. The Witch motioned Harry forward.

The oak door of the Minister's office opened and Rufus Scrimgeour stood in the doorway. "Good to see you again Harry," he said pleasantly.

Harry nodded greetings to the Minister and stepped into the outer office. Scrimgeour directed him to a side door. They stepped through the door into a large conference room. Inside Harry recognized Mr. Prächt and his associate Heinrick, who had been at Privet Drive, and he knew Minister Scrimgeour, Arthur Weasley and he noticed Percy sitting at the table, but there was a woman he did not know and couple of goblins at the far end of the table, which surprised him. Mr. Prächt stepped forward to greet him.

"Welcome Mr. Potter," Mr. Prächt said pleasantly, "let me first wish you a happy birthday," he smiled and motioned Harry toward a seat at the near end of the table.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied as he stepped toward the chair.

"If you will take a seat, we can get through all these formalities as quickly as possible and free you to enjoy your celebrations," Mr. Prächt said, "I hope you don't mind, I have asked the Minister and Mr. Weasley to stand witness for the verification of your identity?"

Harry nodded his consent.

"Let me quickly make introductions before we begin," Mr. Prächt said as he stepped to the chair just to Harry's right. "Starting from your left Mr. Potter," he motioned as he spoke, "This is Ms. Weiss, she is from the firm and she will be handling documentation." The woman seated near him was very kind looking with a nice smile, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She had a large filing attaché case in front of her. She smiled congenially and nodded. "Next we have Mr. Weasley, head of Ministry filing, who is also here to process documentation."

Percy was sitting there with an official looking stamp and pad in front of him, "Happy Birthday, Harry," he said quietly, nodding.

Harry nodded back.

"Across from you are Mr. Gnarggbok, Senior Vice President of Gringotts U.K., and his assistant Mr. Keklorm," Mr. Prächt gestured to the two goblins at the opposite end of the table. Both looked as though they were frowning deeply, but Harry imagined that was as close to a pleasant expression as they were capable. Harry nodded across the table, but it was hard to tell if the goblins reacted at all.

"Alright, then," Mr. Prächt said, "Let's proceed with the verification of your identity, shall we?"

Mr. Prächt motioned to Ms. Weiss who pulled a multi-colored crystal from her case and set it before Harry. It looked like a natural crystal formation cut clean across the bottom so that it would sit flat. It reminded Harry of a paper weight he had once seen at Mrs. Figgs' home.

"This is a Revealer stone," Ms. Weiss explained, "It will reveal any deceptive magic or spoken untruth." She tapped it with the tip of her wand and it glowed softly. She set out a quill and inkwell before Harry and then produced a one page document which she handed to Harry.

Across the top of the page in plain unadorned lettering it read CERTIFICATION OF IDENTITY.

Harry did not read the whole document, but scanning it understood that it simply certified that the recipient of legal action was correctly identified in the presence of a Revealer stone, and before witnesses. He took up the quill and at Mr. Prächt's direction filled out the document in the appropriate places. Then both the Minister and Arthur Weasley signed the document as witnesses, and the document was handed to Percy who stamped it with his official seal and signed and dated it as received.

After that The Minister and Arthur Weasley were politely excused from the room. The remainder of Harry's inheritance meeting was actually rather monotonous. It consisted of a lot of being handed documents by Ms. Weiss, having each explained to him briefly by Mr. Prächt, signing them in the appropriate spaces and handing them to Percy for Ministry processing. Harry was actually rather confused by all the real-estate and business interests he was inheriting and as the meeting proceeded he asked that the arrangement with the legal firm for management of the business dealings of the estate simply remain as it was for the time being. This seemed to be acceptable to Mr. Prächt who apparently had devoted a large part of his career to managing the estate, and no doubt owed the majority of his apparent wealth to doing so. It also triggered the signing of a new set of documents.

The two Goblins from Gringotts were there to propose a streamlining of Harry's wealth. First they presented Harry with a set of papers which was a detailed accounting of the contents of his three vaults. Then they proposed that his vault, the Black family vault which he had inherited earlier and his Grandparents' vault which he was inheriting today all be consolidated into a single vault. Harry agreed to this, which brought forth a new set of documents from the Goblins. Mr. Prächt insisted on carefully reviewing the Goblins forms before allowing Harry to sign them, which seemed to provoke some consternation from the Goblins, but was clearly part of his job as Harry's representative.

Next the Goblins produced all of the Bank paperwork to give Harry access to the various accounts that were set up for different purposes and reviewed the allowances which were currently being paid. There was a household allowance set up for the Manor, which they referred to vaguely as "the Potter main residence". There was another for Grimmauld Place, as well as an allowance set up for Harry's personal use. Harry was given a check book for his personal use account and some brief instructions on how to use it.

A final accounting was made of the funds Harry had given to the Dursleys, and he was presented with notice of the accounts closure. Harry then asked that accounts be set up for each of the Elves under his keeping. He requested a small monthly stipend be deposited on an ongoing basis into an interest bearing savings account to be held until such time that each Elf might be given their freedom. This seemed to be a very puzzling request to everyone present and even received objections from the Goblins, but as Harry was quite insistent his request was met, and he was issued appropriate ledger books for all his accounts.

After the banking business was concluded the goblins thanked Harry for his continued patronage and were excused as well.

Once all the paperwork was in order and properly processed, Percy performed a duplication spell which provided a set of copies for the firm and a set of copies for Harry. Afterward he gathered everything together for filing and excused himself.

Once Harry was alone with Mr. Prächt and his two associates from the firm, Henrick drew up a large leather bag from the floor at his feet and revealed another lockbox which he set on the table before Harry. This one was considerably smaller than the first and was not decorated. It appeared to be a simple iron box with a brass locking mechanism similar to the other.

Mr. Prächt spoke, "Mr. Potter that concludes all the legal aspects of your inheritance and brings us to this one final bit of business. This box is the final item left for you by your Grandparents in my care. I have no knowledge of its contents, but I would guess that it pertains to certain magical aspects of your inheritance. I am aware that your Grandparents took great care to magically protect themselves and your interests, so I recommend that you open this box in a private and magically protected place. By handing you the key to this box I will be releasing myself from a magical vow to protect it until such time as it could be given to you." He reached into his vest pocket and produced an iron key which he handed to Harry. There was a faint flash of light as it dropped into Harry's open palm.

"Unless you have any questions," Prächt concluded, "our business today is done. I continue as your legal representation and you may contact me at any time regarding any matter." He stood and offered his hand to Harry.

Harry shook Mr. Prächt's hand and thanked all three of them for there time. They each likewise thanked Harry and quickly gathered their things, congratulating him, wishing him happy birthday and disappearing out the door.

Harry looked at the large stack of paperwork, left on the table and wished that he had brought some sort of a bag. He pocketed the iron key and reached for his new checkbook, pocketing that as well. After a minute it occurred to him to call Jarvy to retrieve the box and the stack of papers, but when he called the Elf's name out loud there didn't seem to be any response. Harry stood there confused for a minute when suddenly there was a "pop" and Dobby appeared. Dobby looked like he had been scrubbed from head to toe and he was wearing a maroon robe with a Potter family crest embroidered on the chest. He seemed very pleased with his appearance as he stood before Harry.

"Dobby," Harry said, "why didn't Jarvy come?"

"Jarphred regrets that he cannot come to Master Harry. Only an indentured Elf may Apparate to his Master through all magical protections," Dobby said, bowing apologetically "Dobby was glad to come in his stead."

The concept had not occurred to Harry, but it did seem to make sense. "Very well," he said, "Dobby, please take these things directly to my private room and leave them on my desk. Thank you."

"Yes Master," Dobby squeaked. Dobby quickly gathered the stacks of papers and the iron lockbox and with a faint "pop" was gone.

Harry smiled. Despite how he felt about, or perhaps, what he thought he should feel about it, he was enjoying having devoted servants to perform such tasks.

In the outer office, Minister Scrimgeour was waiting for Harry and invited him for an impromptu discussion, which Harry obliged. They spoke for about thirty minutes, mostly regarding the progress establishing a Wizard Army. And much of that discussion centered on where to establish a base for the growing organization. As it happened the Minister had a few ideas and was seeking Harry's help on the matter. The two came to an agreement very quickly and Harry promised his full cooperation.

His business at the Ministry complete, Harry made his way to the atrium. Hurrying toward the public fireplaces he paused recalling the events of his last visit. There was no evidence anywhere to be seen of the escape attempt, or the resultant conflict, but upon reflection Harry got a feeling of unease. The Ministry was a large and complex organization and Harry doubted very much that all potential threats had been eliminated. He would just have to trust that the Minister's strong stance on security was enough to keep it safe for the time being.

* * *

Harry emerged from the public grate into Diagon Alley. The sun was warm and he felt a surge of satisfaction at the little independent movement he was enjoying. He imagined that there were very likely security personnel from both the Ministry and the Order tracking his movements, but that was understandable as long as he was in such a public place. Harry resolved to ignore all such thoughts as long as they kept their distance and allowed him the freedom to enjoy his day. The public awareness and reaction to his presence, and the possibility of reporters was another matter.

Harry walked quickly toward the twin's shop in the hope that a brisk pace might help him avoid being noticed. He arrived within minutes, and pushed through the door. The spring bell sounded as he entered _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_. Fred and George appeared from the back of the shop. "Happy Birthday, Harry," they said in unison. "Pick anything you like, Harry, consider it a bonus birthday gift," Fred said smiling. "Within reason of course," George added.

Ron appeared on the stairs from the upper level. "You made good time, Mate, Hermione and Ginny aren't supposed to arrive for half an hour yet," Ron said as he came to the bottom step and wove his way through the displays to meet Harry.  
Harry grinned happily. "Do you think Ginny would be upset if we snuck off to _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ without her?" Harry asked.

"Well, I know Hermione wouldn't mind," Ron responded, "but Ginny might feel a bit left out."

"Oh, Ginny will understand," George said, "you two should go ahead."

"The girls will get here before long, and we'll send them to catch you up," Fred finished.

Harry and Ron didn't need any more encouragement. They were out into the alley and on their way.

* * *

_Quality Quidditch Supplies_ was quite a large store. There were two stories of open space filled with everything Quidditch. One whole wall was filled with nothing but brooms on display hooks, and the mannequins, wearing brightly colored Quidditch attire were all mounted on brooms in dramatic poses and suspended from the ceiling. Toward the back of the store was an enchanted set of carved figurines on a miniature pitch that played match after match of Quidditch, to the delight of watching customers and several snitches zoomed freely about the store. Best of all, was that everything smelled of fresh broom wax. Harry loved coming in the store and he could hardly believe it had been so long since his last visit.

Ron was drawn immediately to the broom wall where he stood in awe. Here were all the latest models from the best manufactures. There were Cleansweeps, and Nimbus, Comets and Firebolts, as well as numerous others by lesser known creators. Ron was examining a Nimbus 2004.

A man approached them; he was wearing the mock referee robes that served as the uniform for the _QQS_ sales associates, a badge on his chest read 'Gideon'. "How are you this morning? In the market for a broom are we?" Gideon asked.

Harry turned to face him and Gideon did a double take, clearly recognizing who he was serving. To his credit, and Harry's relief Gideon managed his reaction well, and made nothing of it. "Yes, in fact, we are looking to replace some old equipment so we'll be placing a large order today," Harry replied.

Gideon smiled broadly.

Ron turned to see who had approached and immediately recognized the man. "Gideon Brock?" he blurted out and extended his hand. Gideon returned the gesture and Ron shook his hand vigorously. "Harry, Gideon is a beater for the Tutshill Tornados," Ron exclaimed excitedly.

"Former beater," Gideon corrected, "took my twelfth injury last season, and league rules dictate retirement after a dozen," Gideon replied. "So, I took a job here."

Harry shook his hand as well, "Well, then I guess you are well qualified. It is very nice to meet you."

"And, you as well, Mr. Potter," Gideon said. "So what can I interest you in today?"

"Well, as I said we are replacing some old equipment, and I would like to get the best available, we'll be needing a bit of everything," Harry said, "two teams worth," he added.

"Well, let's start with brooms." Gideon began, turning to the broom wall, "Do you have a preference?"

"I've been flying a Cleansweep Eleven, and Harry here has a Firebolt," Ron blurted out.

"Very good," Gideon said, "Cleansweeps are a good choice for Beaters and Keepers, very stable, but not as fast. For Chasers and especially Seekers, I usually recommend the Nimbus series, now up to the Nimbus 2004, or if you can afford it the Firebolt."

"I recently read in _Which Broomstick_ that Firebolt Inc. has come out with new models?" Harry asked.

"Yes, we have several," Gideon responded. He led them down the wall to the Firebolt display section. "Here is the newest entry, the Firebolt XT, XT stands for extreme. They have also come out with the model 'B' and the model 'K' for beaters and keepers specifically. Model 'B' is slightly heavier and more rugged so that it can withstand bludger hits, while the model 'K' is quite thick designed so that the broom handle can be used to bat away incoming quafles."

Ron was examining the brooms closely. "How are they rated?" Ron asked, "There are not a lot of reviews yet."

"Early reviews are, so far, quite positive," Gideon said, "I understand the Arrows, and the Falcons have already ordered full team sets for the start of next season."

"What do you think Ron, should we go for all Firebolts to replace those Moontrimmers?" Harry asked.

Ron looked like he'd been hit with an excitement charm. "If you think that would be okay, Harry," he said tentatively, clearly disbelieving.

"Did you say you have Moontrimmers?" Gideon asked.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"I've never seen a working Moontrimmer," they are worth quite a lot on the collector's market.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Certainly," Gideon said, "Moontrimmers were the preferred Quidditch broom for a long time and they were usually only replaced once they had been broken or worn out. Finding them today is unusual, especially in working condition."

"There is one in the Quidditch Museum," Ron chimed in.

"Yes, but even that one has been restored, and is no longer flyable," Gideon offered, "If you have such a broom, I'll bet the owner would love to acquire it for the store. It would be quite a find."

"I was planning to donate my old equipment to the Quidditch Museum, but I think we could work something out," Harry replied, "I'll need at least two full team sets of Firebolts, plus a few reserve brooms, if you can manage such an order?"

Gideon beamed, "I think we can accommodate you Mr. Potter, let me just go check with my Manager?"

Harry nodded and Gideon turned away quickly.

Just then the shop door opened and Hermione and Ginny strode in, Ron waved at them, and they made their way quickly to the broom wall. Ron met Hermione with a kiss, which caused her to blush slightly, though she didn't complain at all.

Ginny, likewise kissed Harry, "You couldn't wait for me?" Ginny teased.

"Harry just ordered two full team sets of new Firebolts," Ron blurted out.

Ginny looked at her brother surprised. "Of course he did," she smiled at Harry, "did you think he would settle for anything but the best?" She took Harry's arm. "Have you looked at pads and accessories yet?" she asked.

They all started looking through the store. Gideon returned with news that he could have such an order delivered in a matter of a few days. They spent the better part of an hour going through the store and adding items to the order. Gideon was very informative and politely shadowed them the whole time offering tips and recommendations. When they were finished Harry had ordered brooms, beater bats, pads, three full sets of regulation play balls, additional snitches, broom servicing kits, broom wax, and two teams worth of _ready-chant_ Quidditch robes, which were made of specially enchanted fabric to adopt the color scheme of any team, with a simple coded spell.

Harry summoned Dobby and instructed him to bring a Moontrimmer, for Gideon's inspection. Gideon was very impressed and brought the broom to the Manager, who was astounded by the find. In the end Harry traded one of his antique Moontrimmers to offset a small portion of his order.

Gideon tallied it all up and threw in a couple silver referee whistles and subscriptions to _Which Broomstick_ and _The Quidditch Questioneer_ free of charge. Harry happily wrote out his first check after agreeing on delivery at The Burrow within three days.

With everything finalized they left the store and made their way further up the Alley to _Mrs. Scheffelgroober's Tea & Cakes_, where they had a very pleasant lunch. As usual, Mrs. Scheffelgroober doted on Harry and brought out a special birthday cake to end the meal. They managed to fill their time with conversation of the impending wedding, speculation about Charlie and Helena, and Percy and Penelope, and returning to Hogwarts at the end of the summer. Harry was very pleased at how easy it was to spend time with his friends and not dwell on Horcruxes, prophecies and Lord Voldemort; it made his birthday, so far, a very special day.

Once they had completed lunch they popped into iEeylops/i to pick up some owl treats. Mr. Eeylop recognized Harry and Ginny, and this time realized just who they were. He asked about their owls and thanked Harry for sending Hedwig to visit him when Harry ordered Ginny's owl. He went on and on about what a special owl Hedwig was and how perfectly suited she was to him. Finally, as they were about to leave, he asked Harry if the two owls had become a mated pair and expressed great interest in any chicks that might result. Harry had to admit that he had noticed a particular bond between the owls, but he wasn't sure if they had nested or not.

"I was quite certain when they were together in the shop that they would develop a bond in time," Mr. Eeylop said, "but, it was a bit early in the season and sometimes the enchantments will prevent service owls from mating, but I had a good feeling about those two."

"Mr. Eeylop," Ginny asked, "if they were nesting, how exactly would we know?"  
"Oh, well, Snowys are ground nesters, so they would seek a high spot, in an open area. If they have been together for long enough in the right sort of habitat they would have chosen a site nearby. Simple observation could alert you to a nesting site." He paused, "Let me think, Snowys can have clutches anywhere from three to fourteen eggs depending on the availability of food and hatching would begin after about thirty days and be spaced out one or two days apart."

Ginny clutched at Harry's arm. "It is possible, don't you think?" she asked Harry, "we haven't asked them to carry a lot of post all summer. They have mostly been alone outside the house and they haven't been coming in at night."

"Sounds like we'd better look into it," Harry agreed.

"Well, please let me know what you discover," Mr. Eeylop said concernedly, "If you need any assistance or have any questions, feel free to contact me. I will gladly do anything I can to help."

They thanked Mr. Eeylop for his time and information and agreed to let him know what they discovered. Then they left the shop and made their way leisurely through the alley taking time to browse at window displays. Eventually they ended up back at the Twin's shop and went in long enough to talk to Fred and George for a few minutes and remind them to show up at The Burrow before Seven o'clock.

After leaving _WWW_, they made their way back to the Alley centre, where the public floo grates are located. Harry was sorely tempted to Apparate back to The Burrow, having obtained his license that morning, but he was not certain he wanted to try a side-along with Ginny just yet, so flooing back seemed easiest.

* * *

They were back at the Burrow about two-thirty and began packing up their things in preparation for transfer to the Manor. Harry was quickly packed and summoned Jarvy to take his things to his room. Afterward Jarvy returned with Dobby and Winky and they transferred Hermione's trunk as well. Ron took a little longer as he had his entire room to pack, and Harry had told him he could bring everything, including his Chudley Cannon's posters. Dobby turned up to help him and before three o'clock, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and the Burgestikoff's things were all neatly installed in their rooms at the Manor. Bill was ready as well, but they had to wait a bit on Fleur who had managed to assemble several trunks, and baskets full of things in preparation for the wedding.

Lupin and Tonks showed up right at three o'clock and in no time everyone was assembled in the kitchen as Harry installed the _Portis Omnibus_ on the pantry door and deftly turned the appropriate combination, opening the door to the now familiar lattice of blue light.

Mrs. Weasley was giving out hugs to the kids as though she might never see them again, even though they would only be a doorway away. "How will it work to contact you all now if the _Any-door Knob_ will be with Harry?" she questioned.

"Oh, yes," Harry said, "we almost forgot. Hermione and I worked that out."

Hermione produced a small pouch and from it began passing out fake galleons. "These coins are similar to the ones we used to arrange meetings of the DA at Hogwarts. They are lighter than actual galleons, so they should be easy to identify. Each of these is linked to one that has been given to Jarphred. If you give it a squeeze in your hand his coin will alert him and he will come to you. That way you will always be able to communicate back and forth, or he can facilitate passage to or from the Manor," she explained. She gave a coin to everyone who was coming to the Manor to live, as well as giving one to Mrs. Weasley for the Burrow, and one to Ginny. "The pantry will remain the only way to get to the Manor for the time being, so Harry and I thought this would be a good way to maintain security."

"Good thinking," Lupin commended, as he turned the coin over and over in his hand. "This is all there are?"

"Yes," said Harry, "We didn't want to make too many, we figured one for The Burrow would be enough, one for each of you that will be living at the Manor, and well, Ginny was the only exception," he smiled, reddening a little in the cheeks.

Ginny smiled, joyfully embarrassed, and took Harry's hand. She turned the coin over in her free hand and without thinking gave it a happy squeeze.

There was a "pop" and Jarvy appeared. "Yes Mistress Ginny," Jarvy said with a bow.

"Oh!" Ginny said surprised, "I am sorry, Jarvy, I didn't mean to summon you. I just..."

They all began to laugh.

"Well, at least we know they work." Tonks interjected with a chortle.

Jarvy looked a bit confused, but maintained his composure.

"It's alright Jarvy," Harry said, "thank you for responding so promptly. Would you please take Lupin and Tonks things to their rooms?"

Jarvy nodded and turned to the last trunks and with another "pop" he and the luggage disappeared.

The assembled company made their way through the pantry door and into the Manor. Charlie and Ginny came along to spend the afternoon, and with a quick "See you soon," to Mrs. Weasley Harry shut the door behind them.

Dobby and Winky were waiting in the hallway to lead everyone to there respective rooms.

As they were all making there way down the hallway, Lupin stopped Harry with a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry," Lupin said, as Harry turned to face him, making Ginny stop as well as her hand was still firmly in his. "Harry, I was wondering how you would feel... Well, I don't know how you stand on propriety, but Tonks and I wondered if we could share a room?"

Harry noticed that he and Tonks were holding hands.

"If you would rather we not, we'll understand," Tonks said.

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have asked that Bill and Fleur maintain separate rooms until after the wedding," he said, "but nobody has said anything about the two of you. I take it this means you are officially a couple?" Harry asked.

Lupin looked a bit embarrassed, Tonks smiled brightly, and they both nodded. Ginny giggled lightly and squeezed Harry's hand.

"Very well then, you are both adults. I have no objection," Harry said.

"Thank you Harry," Tonks said, as she leaned into Lupin, smiling.

"I had you put in one of the suites in the North Wing, Tonks, so I guess the larger room would be the better to share," Harry said as he turned and started away, pulling Ginny with him.

On the second floor landing Jarvy was handing out keys to the rooms. The four suites in the north wing had been assigned to Hermione, Fleur, Tonks, and Helena. Ron had chosen the first room in the South Wing nearest the stairs and Bill was in the room next to that. Alex had elected to give Fleur and her daughter the larger rooms until after the wedding, and so she too was in the South Wing in the room across from Bill. The room across from Ron had been intended for Lupin, but Harry bent down and whispered to Jarvy the change in arrangements and the Elf produced a second key to the appropriate suite.

Harry took a moment to formally welcome everyone and assure them that they should feel at home. He told them that they were free to go anywhere in the Manor and make use of all of it's accommodations, accept that he would prefer they stay out of what had been his Grandfather's private study on the first floor off the Library. As nothing was planned for the afternoon he suggested that everyone get settled in their rooms, and use the time to relax and get familiar with their new surroundings.

"Jarvy assures me that he, Dobby, or Winky will come when called by anyone within the Manor, so if you need anything, don't hesitate," Harry finished.

Jarvy disappeared with a "pop", and everyone hurried off to their rooms, leaving Harry standing there on the landing with Ginny.

"I thought you would go to Hermione's room and help her get settled?" Harry said.

"Hermione is a big girl, she can handle things alone. Besides, I suspect Ron will turn up there in short order." Ginny responded, "Besides, I was kind of hoping to see the elusive master suite?" She said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

"Oh, you were, were you?" Harry smiled, "very well then." Harry took her hand and led her down the hallway toward the last door.

Inside the door was a private sitting room, all wood paneled and finished in amber chestnut. To the right there was a large marble fireplace flanked on one side by a deep leather, wing backed reading chair and on the other by a very comfortable looking lounge. In front of the fireplace was a beautiful Victorian sofa. To the left were a couple of built in book shelves on either side of a large wooden writing desk. Atop the desk were the iron lock box and the papers from Harry's inheritance meeting earlier in the day. Across the room was an open door through which could be seen the bed chamber.

Ginny kicked off her summer sandals and scrunched her toes in the deep carpet. Harry followed suit leaving their shoes in a heap near the door.

"This is beautiful, Harry," Ginny exclaimed as she took a turn around the room, giddy with excitement. She bound into the bed chamber eagerly exploring the space. The elaborate woodwork continued into the bed chamber, though the walls here were finished with silken fabric of Griffyndor Maroon. There was a king sized four poster bed that dominated the room and chairs finished in gold silk each with a side table of polished chestnut.

Ginny kept exploring passing through a curtained arch into his and hers dressing alcoves with separate closets that were each larger than her bedroom at The Burrow. Beyond was a short hallway, off of which were the water closet to one side and a large shower room to the other. The hallway lead into a bathing chamber similar to the one she had bathed in, only this was much larger with an octagonal sunken bath that had stairs leading down into it. Ginny thought it could have been a small swimming pool. The bathing chamber was finished in shimmering gold tile with maroon curtains across a broad window, and an open alcove filled with fluffy maroon towels, soaps, shampoos and bath oils.

Ginny came racing back through the curtain into the bedchamber where she had left Harry, he was standing there, chuckling at her. "Not much different than the guest chambers," he said.

"I guess not, but it's larger," Ginny responded.

Ginny crossed to Harry and took his hands entwining their fingers. "So, do you think it will be different living here?" she asked.

"Different? Definitely, but I think I am going to like it," Harry said, "It feels good having a place to really call home."

"Won't you miss knowing I am just down the hall?" Ginny pouted.

"Of course I will," Harry pulled her close against himself, "but you will be here everyday, won't you?"

"Every second Mum and Dad allow, I will." Ginny released his hands and hugged him close pressing her face to his chest. "But, I'll miss knowing you are sleeping down the hall."

"I'll miss that too," Harry said with a wistful sigh. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

They stood in their hug for a long moment, content in the warmth of one-another.

"I'll bet your bed here will be more comfortable," Ginny said finally. She turned her face up to his.

Harry chuckled. "You are right about that," he said, "I will not be missing that cot."

Ginny pulled away from Harry moving to the side of the bed and sitting up onto it. She spread her arms to her sides and ran her hands over the soft down comforter. "Ummm, nice," she purred.

Harry followed her, standing against the bed between her knees. He leaned down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled at him as their tongues entwined. Harry's heart was pounding as he leaned into Ginny and she pulled herself fully onto the bed, Harry with her. They kissed more passionately than they ever had their mouths hard and frantic against one another. Harry kissed at her neck; the smell of her hair was intoxicating as he nibbled at her ear eliciting a slight moan.

"Harry," Ginny called pleadingly, as she reached for his face pulling their lips back together.

His hand slipped down her side pulling at her blouse, un-tucking it from her shorts. Ginny's hands slipped from his face moving to his shirt buttons deftly popping each one top to bottom to reveal his bare chest.

In kind Harry worked the buttons of her blouse in the opposite direction. The backs of his fingers brushed the smooth flesh of her belly beneath and each touch tingled causing him to fumble the buttons.

Ginny's hands on his skin felt electric as she caressed his sides beneath the open shirt reaching behind to his shoulders and pulling him tight, again bringing their mouths together in a rush of breath-defying passion.

They fell back onto the bed entangled, she pushing his shirt from his shoulders and he slipping her blouse from hers.

The imagined creature in his belly roared as Harry, dizzy with desire, pulled at Ginny, devouring her lips with his, pressing his bare flesh to hers. He couldn't breath, he couldn't think, his hands moved to the clasp of her bra, and she willingly arched her back from the mattress allowing him access.

Their mouths parted, both gasping for air.

Harry released his hold on the unopened clasp and pushed himself up. "Ginny!" He panted, realization frantic in his voice, "what are we doing?"

Harry threw himself off the bed, his heart pounding in his ears.

Ginny raised herself on her elbows, she too breathing harsh frenzied breaths. "Giving in to desire," she stated unabashedly, "its okay, Harry, it's your Birthday and I have nothing greater to give you than me."

"Oh, Ginny," Harry exclaimed, his breath returning, the pounding in his ears subsiding. He returned to the bed and pulled her up in to a deep hug, "Ginny, I want you so badly, I really do, but not just because we can and not just because it's my birthday." Harry kissed her again, but more calmly and softly. "Ginny, I don't know if this will make sense to you, but I want you for a lifetime, not just for the moment."

Ginny collapsed against him tears welling in her eyes. "I do understand that Harry," she whispered, as she pressed her head on his shoulder and nibbled at his neck.

Harry, felt her tears against his neck slip down along his collar bone.

"Ginny? Are you alright?" Harry questioned.

"Yes, Harry, I'm happy," she whispered.

Harry held her still for a long moment, before easing her blouse up her arms and back over her shoulders.

Ginny nuzzled his neck and turned her face up to his to collect another kiss, which grew from sweet to passionate. Harry returned each kiss, but eased himself forward off the bed leading her until they were standing next to it in a tight embrace. He peeled himself from her arms and retrieved his shirt throwing it on over his shoulders.

Ginny pulled him back to her, kissing him again, deeply. "You... Really... Do... Want me..., Harry?" she asked in staccato gasps between darting kisses.

Harry pulled back again and met her fiery eyes with his. "Are you kidding? You know I do..." he took a deep breath, "it's just that... Ginny... I love you... and I don't want to do anything that is not right for us, and for everyone around us."

Ginny frowned slightly, "My Dad made you promise didn't he?" she said wryly.

"Well... he made me promise I would behave myself at The Burrow... But that has nothing to do with it. It's just the way I feel about it... about you..." Harry's voice trailed away. He didn't know what more to say. He pulled her back into another kiss. After a long moment he parted the kiss and turned, taking her hand and pulling her toward the sitting room, away from the bed.

"Harry," Ginny said innocently, "You really do want me though?" she moved with him hesitantly.

"Madly," Harry said.

She stopped at the doorway, tugging him back. "You're sure? We probably have a couple hours before anyone will look for us," she said enticingly.

"Don't tempt me," Harry said teasingly, pulling her forward and kissing her yet again. He turned her and stepped her out of the bed chamber with a barrage of kisses. "You're not upset with me?" he asked, as he backed her against the couch.

Ginny sat, pulling her legs up beneath herself. "No!" she exclaimed, "how could I be mad at you for proving to me that you really love me," she smiled giddily, clutching at a throw pillow. "Of course, either way, I would have taken as proof," she batted her lashes at him.

Harry smiled, "you're terrible Miss Weasley," he said teasingly.

Ginny blushed, "Besides, Hermione predicted you would react something like this... I'll bet Ron is not nearly so noble."

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed, "You didn't discuss this with Hermione?"

"Of course I did," Ginny said matter-of-factly, "Where else was I going to learn the appropriate charms?" she blushed again.

"And, Hermione? She's not planning to... with Ron?" Harry asked with disbelief.

"Oh, no!" Ginny responded, "at least I don't think so... but, maybe." Ginny was clearly enjoying Harry's expression. "It's none of our business either way," she giggled.

Harry shut his eyes and shook his head as though banishing the thought, "You're quite right about that," he said, "nothing I want to know."

* * *

**Please review - Thanks!**

**NEXT**  
Chapter Seventeen  
**The Party**


	18. The Party

Chapter Seventeen  
**The Party**

Lord Voldemort stood at the castle window looking out at the surrounding grounds and the dark woods beyond.

The castle was a recent acquisition and while comfortable enough and nicely located high in the Carpathian Mountains. It was no Hogwarts. That was the one castle he really wanted; the one castle that still held many of his darkest secrets. _In time_. he thought to himself, _All, in time_.

He glanced far to the distant west at the surrounding peaks. He was waiting, and it was something he was not very good at. He adored keeping others waiting, but waiting himself he just couldn't ever be comfortable with. And, yet he had been waiting. Waiting for years; waiting for opportunities. They had come; people whose bodies he had possessed, lives he had influenced toward his long term goals. His years as a spirit had actually taught him much more about human nature than he had previously comprehended.

He had achieved a great deal while waiting. Then the idiot Quirrel had come and he was finally able to start acting on his plan; returning to Hogwarts in search of the Philosophers stone. Unicorn blood had helped him achieve the beginnings of a corporeal rebirth. But then there had also been the boy. He hissed angrily at the memory; Harry Potter, who should have died by his hand; the boy who had lived. Harry had grown, and through some unknown magic had managed to thwart him a second time. Dumbledore had always theorized that the unknown magic was 'love', but he had never seen any evidence that 'love' was anything more than a desperate man's fantasy, a trap for the weak minded.

He had returned to the East, reuniting with the one creature that had never disappointed him, his familiar, Nagini. After two more years of waiting the most unexpected of his servants had found him, and he was able to once again act on his plan. With very careful planning and the help of a more capable servant he had been able to achieve the goal of corporeal rebirth. Again, the boy had to be involved and again the boy should have died, but always there were surprises where the boy was concerned. It was then that he had learned about the relationship between the wands; two wands, each with a core from the very same creature, a very fortunate coincidence for the boy, one that had saved his life yet again.

Next had come the plan to retrieve the Prophecy, a plan again thwarted by the wildcard that was Harry Potter. It had caused him to regroup, to rethink, and to return again to the East. One thing was clear, his triumph was coming, his plans were falling into place, but none of it would be complete until he himself could kill Harry Potter. That day too was coming, but it would require a little more waiting.

None could know the full extent of his plans. Even Dumbledore, who had uncovered the most could never have realized the full extent of his conviction. Or the lengths to which he had gone to guarantee ultimate success. The Diary, he had learned, had been destroyed, but it had only been one; one of six. Even Dumbledore, he thought, could not have guessed the number, let alone uncovered the objects themselves. And even if he had told the boy, Harry Potter had never been able to achieve anything on his own, and Dumbledore was gone now. The boy himself posed only a minimal threat.

There was a knock at the chamber door. "Enter." Voldemort commanded.

Severus Snape walked tentatively into the dark room. The snake Nagini slithered toward him, hissing lightly in the darkness. "Master," Snape dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. "He has been located."

"Very good," Voldemort said, still looking out the window. "Then we shall proceed."

"Yes Master," Snape answered quietly.

"Fetch the crucible, Severus," Voldemort said, his cruel voice dripping with sadistic mirth.

Voldemort drew his wand pressing the tip to his forearm were his own master mark darkened upon contact. It took only a moment for him to locate the Death-eaters at the desired location and centering on them, he Apparated.

A moment later, Voldemort appeared among a small gathering of his newest Death-eaters. Cold wind wiped about him. They were high up in the mountains, near a jagged peak, with only a very narrow passage allowing them entry. There was a level area of crushed stone before the mouth of a dark cave. Voldemort smiled a cruel smile through his narrow lips.

Snape appeared behind the Dark Lord. He was carrying a large ceramic pot with a flat lid. He remained stern and silent, both arms supporting the ceramic container.

"Excellent, Severus, it looks large enough," the Dark Lord hissed.

"Yes, Lord," Snape responded, head remaining bowed.

Voldemort turned to the small group of Death-eaters. "You are certain this is the one?" Voldemort asked in a commanding tone.

One of the Death-eaters stepped forward and bowed. "Yes, Lord, he is the oldest... and most deadly."

"Your work here will be aptly rewarded," Voldemort said off-handedly as he stepped anxiously toward the cave mouth. He turned slightly, facing the Death-eaters. "This is a turning point my friends, one more step on the great path that shall lead to my victory; the dawn of a new age for Wizard kind." Voldemort drew his wand and turning strode purposefully into the cave.

The Death-eater who had spoken moved closer to Snape. "Can he really do this?"

Snape cut the man off, "Do you doubt your Master?"

"No... No not at all, sir," the Death-eater responded defensively. "It's just that, well that is the oldest known Romanian Longhorn in there. And I have never seen a man face a dragon before without lots of extra magical gear." The man paused, listening intently. "Our Lord is truly great and powerful," he said, somewhat apprehensively.

"Terribly powerful," Snape said quietly, giving the man a sidelong glance.

An unearthly, gurgling roar split the silence and the mouth of the cave exploded in hot flame.

There were quick flashes of colored light punctuated by more roars, and more flames. A loud clamoring of what sounded like huge stones crashing into the cave walls and the whole mountain seemed to shake.

Snape set down the large pot drawing his wand. The others followed his example. Despite themselves they stepped nearer the cave mouth.

For long agonizing minutes they witnessed the battle of lights and flame as it illuminated the cave opening; and kept their feet as the mountain shook with fury. Then, there was silence. Great billows of smoke rushed from the cave mouth flowing into the clouded sky.

They stood in excited anticipation, waiting for what if anything would emerge.

Lord Voldemort came slowly into view his blood soaked cloak smoldering and steaming about him. In his hands he held a gruesome bloody heart, large as a Christmas ham. The thing undulated and pulsed still, glowing with rivulets of magical power as blood dripped from torn veins. "The crucible," Voldemort demanded.

Snape picked up the ceramic pot and rushed it to his Master, setting it before him and removing the heavy lid.

Voldemort eased the dragon heart into the pot, his hands thick with dark red blood. "The beast is defeated, the prize is mine," he said, his lips slithering into a smile. "Severus, take this to the wand maker."

Snape gathered the heavy pot and Apparated away without a word.

"Gather all that is of value my Death-eaters," Voldemort commanded with unabashed revelry. "I leave you now to finish your work." With a loud implosive "pop" the Dark Lord was gone.

* * *

Voldemort appeared back in the castle chamber. He was drenched in Dragon blood, his cloak still smoldered sickeningly. "Attend me!" he bellowed.

A young woman entered from a side door, she was a beautiful blonde girl dressed in a thin, sheer robe that revealed much of her form beneath. She bowed to one knee, barely able to hide the fear on her face. "Yes, my Lord," she said tentatively. Two more, similarly dressed and equally beautiful woman, one raven haired, the other with long auburn locks, appeared behind her and bowed low.

Voldemort kicked off his boots with a blood soaked sloshing sound and opened the front of his robe casting it off his shoulders revealing a few nasty burns on his arms and shoulders. Dragon blood dripped down his face chest and back as he revealed the fullness of his waxy white form before the attendants. "Heated water," he commanded, "I wish to be bathed of this dragon foul."

The woman quickly turned and left the room returning moments later, the first carrying a large basin on a tray, filled with a cake of soap and two large sponges. The second carried a stack of thick towels, which she set carefully on a side table, and the third carried a fresh heavy robe, which she also laid on the table. A procession of haggard looking Elves appeared carrying a large round brass tub and several large steaming ewers of water. The tub was fully a meter and a half wide. They set them down before the Dark Lord and quickly scurried from the room.

Having performed healing spells on his burns, the Dark Lord stepped into the center of the tub. The first two women dropped their sheer robes to the floor and stepped into the tub, setting the basin at the Dark Lord's feet. The third woman gathered the first of several ewers of water and filled the basin from outside the tub, then handed the ewer to the raven haired servant. The blonde gathered a sponge and soaping it prepared to wash her Master as the other, stretching to reach, slowly poured water over Voldemort to rinse away the bloody filth.

Voldemort stood silently, eyes closed as the two servants carefully attended to him, obviously enjoying their soapy caress.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter," Voldemort commanded exultantly.

Snape entered the room, casting his eyes down hastily at the sight of the three naked bodies before him. "I am sorry, my Lord, I did not intend to disturb your cleansing," Snape apologized hastily, bowing low.

The women made no attempt to cover themselves, despite obvious expressions of embarrassment. They continued washing their Lord.

"Nonsense, Severus, there is no need for apology," Voldemort responded unabashedly "Do not tell me you are embarrassed by the scene before you?"

"No Lord," Snape raised his head, not quite meeting Voldemort's gaze. "I wished to report that the heart has been delivered. Mr. Ollivander has already begun harvesting the heartstrings."

"Excellent," The word practically slithered from the Dark Lord's lips.

"Lord," Snape continued, "I wondered if you remembered that today is the whelp's Birthday?"

Voldemort chuckled sadistically. "I have not forgotten. Did you hope I would include you in some plan to attack Potter?"

"One can hope, my Lord," Snape bowed low again.

"Rest assured, Severus," Voldemort said sardonically, "I have arranged an appropriate gift for 'the whelp' as you so like to call him." There was an uncomfortable silence, as a couple of Elves returned, quietly spiriting away the soiled boots and robe from the floor and banishing all traces of blood including the filthy rinse water from the tub.

The raven haired woman began pouring water over Voldemort again rinsing away the soap from his sickly looking flesh.

"You may go, Severus," Voldemort said commandingly, "I have my bath to finish." Voldemort reached for the blonde beauty and roughly pulled her body against his, chuckling darkly. The young woman gasped.

Snape turned abruptly and hastily exited the room.

* * *

Harry rolled off the couch onto the floor and began buttoning his shirt. Ginny smiled at him from the couch. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair was a mess, but she had never looked more beautiful to him.

They had talked for a while after their incident in the bedroom and it had not surprised Harry that their views on the matter had never been far out of tune. They talked about the impending dangers of the Horcrux search, the need for Harry to eventually face Tom Riddle, Ginny's parents and what concerns they might have, as well as their personal views, fears and hopes for a long wonderful life together. They agreed that while the passion between them was undeniable, they did not need to be in any sort of a hurry to push their physical relationship in any particular direction. There were a lot of unknowns in their future and they felt that they didn't want to act because of them, or in spite of them. What they both wanted most of all, is that when it did happen, it would be for all the right reasons, and free of any sort of reservations.

That heartfelt conversation had led finally to a long unreserved snogging session there on the couch both of them confident in their mutually agreed limits.

Harry pulled himself up and crossed the room to the desk. He retrieved the iron lock box and brought it back to the couch where Ginny had sat up and was straightening herself.

"More of my inheritance," Harry said as he set next to Ginny indicating the lock box with a gesture. "I was thinking I should probably open it."

Ginny looked at the non-descript iron box with an intense curiosity. "Any idea what could be in this one?" she asked.

"I've no clue," Harry responded, "but, Mr. Prächt seemed to feel its contents might be important, and probably magical." Harry paused, "I was thinking we should get Ron and Hermione, and then head down to my Grandfather's study and I'll open it there."

"Okay," Ginny smiled, "but give me a chance to straighten up a little," she said as she stood and headed into the bedroom and through to the dressing rooms. She emerged a few minutes later, clothes straightened and hair brushed. "Alright," she said, "Now I don't look like we've been snogging for the last hour." She raised her wand and hit Harry with a quick de-wrinkling charm. "There, now, neither do you."

Harry chuckled, smiling at her.

* * *

Harry and Ginny headed down the hall to Ron's room where they knocked, but it was clear that Ron was not there.

"See, I told you," Ginny giggled as they headed to the North wing.

They arrived at Hermione's door, Harry raising his hand to knock when Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled it down. "Wait, Harry, what if... what if they are?" Ginny blushed scandalously.

Harry looked momentarily puzzled. "Ginny! They are my best friends in the whole world and I really do not want to think about such things," Harry paused, seemingly unable to raise his arm again. "Still..."

"They are a couple now, Harry, and they are both of age," Ginny said, biting her lip.

"That doesn't mean they..." Harry looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Ginny, why does it matter? We should still knock as if we assume nothing, because we know nothing."

"I know, but I can't help but wonder, Harry," Ginny blushed again. "I don't really care, but I can't help it."

"You are terrible, Ginny," Harry teased.

"Oh, come on, Harry, you are wondering too," Ginny said, putting on an innocent face.

"Only because you keep bringing it up," Harry admonished her playfully.

"Okay, knock then," Ginny challenged, "but what if they are, doing it?"

Harry raised his hand to knock but they both were stuck in the moment staring at the door before them.

"Doing what?" Ron's voice cut the momentary silence.

Harry and Ginny turned, startled, frozen by Ron's sudden presence.

Ron was standing behind them in the hallway. He had a rather large sandwich from which he had obviously taken several bites, as he was still chewing.

"How long have you been standing there?" Ginny demanded guiltily.

"Long enough to know you two are nutters," Ron said, taking another large, appreciative bite of his sandwich.

Harry and Ginny were both red with embarrassment.

"Go on in, it's not locked," Ron said through his mouthful. "Don't worry; I won't tell Hermione, you two have lost your minds." He pushed between them and opened the door, stepping into the room.

Harry and Ginny followed sheepishly, remaining near the door.

Hermione was sitting cross legged on the bed pouring over a book laid out in front of her. She looked up. "Hey you two," she said. "We wondered if you would be around before this evening."

"So, what's with the new box, Harry?" Ron asked, diverting conversation before it could begin.

"Another lock-box from Mr. Prächt," Harry stated. "This is the final piece of my inheritance. We were just going down to my Grandfather's study to open it." Harry held the box forward so they could see it better. "We thought you two might like to come along?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, "wouldn't miss it. Just give me a minute." She placed a book mark in her book and climbed off the bed heading for the dressing room.

There were a couple of minutes of silence. Harry and Ginny fidgeted uncomfortably still recalling the scene in the hallway. Ron just tucked in to his sandwich as though he was oblivious.

Hermione reemerged and they all headed from the room making their way toward the Library.

From a window at the landing of the northwest stairs, Ron caught a glimpse of Lupin and Tonks crossing the outer courtyard toward the carriage house. He paused, "Wonder what they are up to?"

Harry and the others joined Ron by the window and watched as the two disappeared into the carriage house. "Oh, nothing to worry about," Harry said quietly. "It is the full moon in a few days, that's all." The others looked at him wide eyed, their expressions begging further explanation. Harry sighed lightly, not really wanting to bring it up. "There is a passage beneath the carriage house that leads to a special, secure cell. I made sure they knew about it when I invited them to move in. I expect they are just making sure everything is ready should Lupin need to use it during the full moon."

Ron, Hermione and Ginny all nodded in slightly apprehensive understanding. Harry turned and headed down the stairs. "Will it really be safe, Harry," Ginny finally asked as they descended the stairs.

"Yes, I expect," Harry said, not stopping. "I didn't have to tell the Elves about Lupin's condition, they just somehow already knew, and they will look after him." Harry paused, "Jarvy tells me that the Manor has accommodated werewolves in the past, and he is not the slightest bit worried about it."

They reached the door to his Grandfather's study and Harry opened it with a master key. The room was all wood panels, lined with built in shelves and glass fronted cabinets. It was a bit reminiscent of the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, with lots of wondrous objects in the cabinets that moved on their own. The shelves were packed with books, which Hermione began to examine immediately. There was a large oak desk which dominated one end of the room, and a comfortable reading/sitting area by the single broad window. Harry crossed the room to the desk and set the lock box on it as he stepped around and seated himself in the comfortable leather desk chair.

Hermione and Ron each took seats in the heavy chairs opposite Harry, Ginny pulled up a third chair from against the wall. Harry removed the Dumbledore card base from his pocket and set it on the desk, producing a card to set in it. After quick greetings, birthday wishes, and a short explanation, "Mr. Prächt said to open this in a secure location, and I expect this is about as secure as the Manor has to offer," Harry said. The others nodded their agreement, as Harry dug the iron key from his pocket. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it to no effect. Harry sighed, "I guess this one is like the other."

Harry opened the center drawer of the desk looking for something to prick his finger. He found a small box of map pins and used one to perform the task, drawing a small drop of blood on his left index finger. He dabbed the end of the key into the drop of blood then slowly slid it into the lock. As with the previous lock-box there was a slight momentary glow of golden light; an audible 'click' and the lock clasp fell open.

Harry opened the top of the box. Inside was a thick set of folded sheaves of parchment. Harry removed the parchment revealing a dozen small crystal vials beneath, set in neat dividers.

Setting the parchments aside for a moment, Harry picked up one of the vials holding it up to examine the contents. Inside was a silvery liquid. Harry recognized it as a memory at once.

"Is that a memory?" Ron asked. "You've told us about them, and about using the pensive, but I've never seen one before."

"Yes, yes I think that's exactly what it is," Harry replied, holding the vial out farther for everyone's examination. "But, whose?"

"That is an excellent question," Dumbledore responded, "your family, and your history seems to be filled with surprises, Harry."

"Here," Hermione said, reaching into the divider slot from which Harry had drawn the vial, and pulling up a small paper tag. "It says, 'Caractacus Potter, c. 900 - Potter curse'."

"Curse?" Harry said chuckling gravely, "just what I need." He set the vial back in its slot hastily.

He turned to the parchments and picked them up unfolding the top sheets and pulling them away. It was a letter from his Grandfather. Harry read it aloud.

_To my Grandson,_

_Congratulations, you will have come of age now and your legal inheritance is complete. Great pains have been taken to ensure that your inheritance has remained intact and your financial interests have continued to grow. It is my hope that this will help you on the dark journey you have before you. Mr. Prächt has done a great service to the Potter family and I am certain he will continue to assist you in whatever legal way you may need._

_Having received all legal rights and responsibilities it is now important that certain magical matters be attended to as well. Most urgently, as the head of the Potter family you will need to claim and re-enforce the charms and wards that protect the Manor and our family name. I have left detailed instructions for doing so in the parchments you have now received. This must be done within forty-eight hours of your legal inheritance or you will run the risk of the magic fading to dangerous levels._

_Through your Grandmother's gifts we have been able to see only glimpses of the darkness that you must face; enough to concern us gravely, and cause us to take drastic measures to protect the family. Still, we could not protect your parents, or shield them from the tragic roles they had to play in the unfolding of the Potter fate. For this we are sorely grieved._

_Knowing some small details of their roles in these overall events, and as a birthday gift for you, I was able to commission a portrait of your parents. If the artist has upheld her portion of the contract, it should have been painted shortly after their wedding without their knowledge, appropriately charmed to receive their life impressions, and sealed away for safe keeping by the artist herself. Instructions for retrieving this portrait are included in the enclosed parchments. It is my sincere hope that this will make up in some very small way for you being denied your parents presence in your life._

_You will not lack for financial resources, and there are many magical objects and devices collected at the Manor which may or may not be of help to you. Lacking specific details, attempting to prepare a way for you was very likely beyond our grasp, but we have tried none-the-less. _

_Deep beneath the lowest cellar of the Manor is a treasure room where we have preserved the greatest object of the Wizarding world. An artifact so often sought after that it has passed into Wizard myth. An artifact I do not dare name in a letter. It is our hope that it may be of help to you. _

_Unfortunately, we can not know if any of our preparations will be of any help at all, they may not be. Therefore we have also left you a magical record of your heritage, in the form of these family memories, so that you may come to know who you are through the lens of your ancestry. _

_The history of the Potter family is shrouded by its own curse, a curse we have come to suspect is connected to all that is unfolding in your lifetime. Find the answer to the Potter curse and you have found the key to all._

_We wish that we could have done much more and given you exact clear answers to the many questions that you must have. The path before you is yours to travel, and we have every faith that you will traverse it with courage and conviction, we hope that we have helped in some small way._

_Know that you are loved and have always been loved, before, during, and beyond your lifetime, and that no matter the outcome of your journey in this life, that bit of magic will never change._

_With deep and abiding love,_ _  
_ _  
Your Grandfather, _ _  
Deyton Potter._

Harry set the letter down. There was silence, as though everyone in the room were holding there breath.

"Well, it seems, Harry, that your life is even more complicated than any of us ever suspected," Dumbledore said in what sounded like a slightly troubled tone. "This is certainly beyond the scope of anything I ever imagined.

"Yes, Professor," Harry agreed dubiously. "But, it does not change the tasks at hand. We still need to focus on our search for the Horcruxes. We will investigate this artifact that my Grandparent's have left, and hopefully it will prove useful. And, I would like to find out more about my family and whatever this 'Potter Curse' is, but I cannot let it distract me from the here and now."

"Quite right, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "But let me encourage you, as it is your Birthday, to take the time to enjoy your day. The most urgent matter seems to be the Manor wards, which you have been given forty-eight hours to address. I suggest that we can determine to deal with this first thing tomorrow, as well as the other matters in your Grandfather's letter. Today, let us focus on the party yet to come."

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all nodded in agreement. Harry stood still and seemed to be looking at the lock box as though he were making a difficult decision.

Harry reached forward and picked up the additional folded parchments and handed them to Hermione, who began to unfold them curiously. He placed the letter on top of the memory vials and closed the box. "No, Professor," he said finally. "While I appreciate your trying to focus on some fun for my birthday, I think we should take care of the wards immediately." He exhaled a slight sigh. "The artifact, these memories, and even the portrait of my parents can wait a little, but starting tomorrow there will be more people in the Manor, so I think we should take care of security first." He gathered the closed lock-box and opening a lower drawer of the heavy oak desk he set the box in and slid it closed.

"I think you're dead right, Harry," Ron said supportively, "better to see to security while you can."

Ginny nodded her head in agreement.

"Well, I will not disagree, Harry," Dumbledore said, "In fact; I commend you on your consideration of the matter."

Harry turned to Hermione who was reading through the parchments. "Well, what does it say I have to do, Hermione?" He asked.

"It all looks pretty simple, Harry," she replied. "Your Grandfather's instructions say that all the Manor wards and protections, including the Fidelius charm are focused through an ancestral blood stone." She continued to scan the instructions "It looks like you simply cast whatever wards you desire on the stone."

"What is a blood stone?" Ginny asked.

Dumbledore spoke in answer. "A blood stone is a magical stone that uses drops of a family's blood to bind and reinforce magic. It is a very old, and very powerful way to do this. It is not surprising; given everything we have learned about the Potters, that one of Harry's ancestors would have created such an object to protect this house." Dumbledore seemed very pleased. "I have never seen one myself."

"Harry," Hermione spoke, "It says here that the stone will accept blood not only from your family, but from any of your maternal ancestors' families as well." She paused, and looked up rather excitedly. "There is a list here of six names. The family names of your male ancestor's wives." Hermione paused, "The first name on the list is, 'Weasley'." She looked up at Ginny whose eyes had grown wide.

"Excellent," Dumbledore exclaimed, "That would mean that any directly descended Weasley could add their charms and wards to the stone to reinforce its power." He paused, "what are the others?"

Hermione looked back down at the parchment, finding her place hurriedly and read the list. "Weasley," she repeated, "Fenrimore, Trelawney, Soronen, Lovegood, and Evans."

Harry chuckled loudly. "Well, I guess that answers the question of whether or not my Grandmother is Luna's lost Great Aunt."

Ginny, joined Harry's laughter.

"Since when have you suspected that?" Ron asked, beginning to chuckle himself at the thought.

"It was something Luna said at the Ministry the day of the escape attempt," Ginny said, "I guess with all the excitement about the to-do with those Death-eaters, we just sort of forgot about it."

"This is all very interesting," Dumbledore cut in seriously. "It seems that if you chose to, you could include Miss Lovegood and her father, as well as Professor Trelawny in reinforcing the wards," he paused, "I am afraid the other names are unfamiliar to me."

"Soronen, is the name of the woman who took over _Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor_, do you suppose she is somehow related?" Ginny asked.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, "The only name on that list that I trust is 'Weasley', I am not about to ask any others for assistance. I suppose maybe Luna, but I don't think it is worth trying to contact her right now."

"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore said, "It would be extremely important that you trust anyone you would ask to participate."

"I think we should do this now, with who we have on hand." Harry paused, "Bill and Charlie are in the Manor now, they could participate if they are willing and we can add wards from the twins and your Father, later." Harry said turning to Ron. "Ron, would you go find your brothers and ask them if they are willing?" Harry turned to Hermione, "The instructions must say where to locate this blood stone?"

Hermione was still reading through the parchments. "Um, yes," she said, "they say that Jarphred knows the location of the ward room and will lead you there." She looked up from the parchments again. "Harry, this also instructs you to reinforce the Fidelius charm, and change secret keepers, so that Jarvy can be returned to his position as your House-elf." She looked slightly defeated. "I assume this means you are supposed to recapture him."

Harry nodded, but didn't open the matter to discussion. He turned back to Ron "Go find your brothers, and meet us in at the central stairs in a few minutes."

Ron nodded, and turned to leave the room, "be there in a few," he said as he left the room.

Harry turned to the Dumbledore card. "I'm sorry Professor, but if we are going to keep you secret, you won't be able to come for this."

"I quite understand, Harry," the little Dumbledore conceded, "You will of course tell me all about it later, I hope?"

"Of course, Professor," Harry said, he reached out to remove the card, but then stopped. "Later, Professor, if you would like, I can leave you somewhere in the sitting room, so you can witness the party. I don't think my having your card out at my birthday party would arouse any suspicion. If you behave like a regular Chocolate Frog Card, I think it would be fine."

"I would like that, Harry," Dumbledore said, "I think you are right, everyone would simply see your having my card there, as a sentimental gesture. And, I thank you for that."

Harry leaned forward and reached to pull the card from the base, "See you later then, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded with a smile, and Harry pulled the card, pocketing the card and base.

Harry, Hermione and Ginny left the room making there way to the central staircase. They arrived well before the others. Harry called for Jarvy and Dobby and both elves appeared at once. Harry knelt to address them directly. He turned to Dobby first. "Dobby, I want you to go to Hogwarts now, and find Hagrid. Tell him, if he would come to The Burrow an hour early, I have a favor to ask him."

"Yes, Master," Dobby squeaked, and snapping his fingers disappeared with a 'pop'.

Harry turned to Jarvy. "Jarvy, I have received instructions from my Grandfather," I must reinforce the Manor wards. I will need you to show me to the Blood Stone."

Jarvy's eyes widened. "Yes, Master Harry," Jarvy said calmly.

Ron arrived, with Bill and Charlie in tow, along with them came Lupin, Tonks and Alex Burgestikoff.

Harry let Hermione give a brief explanation of what they were going to do, and why Bill and Charlie were to be included, and then Jarvy lead them up the stairs to the highest level of the Manor.

On the fifth floor landing of the main staircase there didn't, at first glance, appear to be any doorways, just a wrap around, wide, banistered walkway. There was nothing there accept a fresco covered ceiling, and the walkways only purpose seemed to be so that interested observers could get a closer look at the ceiling above. Jarvy lead them to the side wall and pointed to a small latch set in the wall.

Harry pulled the latch and a section of the wall swung open silently. Inside was a, narrow, steep, wooden stairway that led up the inside of the wall. Harry looked at Jarvy who just smiled and waved him inside. Harry drew his wand and said _Lumos_, holding it before him he climbed up the stairs. The others lighted their wands and followed. At the top of the stairs was an open attic. The rough timber structure of the roof line was clearly visible. At the center of the attic was a mechanical, hand operated winch that's clear purpose was for raising the massive chandelier which hung below. Everyone looked a bit confused as there didn't seem to be anything else in the large attic room.

The hairs at the back of Harry's neck bristled and he felt flush with goosebumps. He was certain there was a very powerful source of magic nearby.

"Doesn't appear to be anything up here, Mate," Ron said casually.

Ginny took Harry's hand. She whispered, "What is it Harry?"

"Oh, there is something here," Harry said, "Something very powerful."

Harry turned around to face a wooden wall. It appeared to be very solid. He stepped up and touched it. It felt unyielding. He closed his eyes and stepped through, pulling Ginny with him.

"Okay, that was interesting," Lupin said, unperturbed.

"It must be like the barrier to the platform at King's Cross," Hermione said. She took Ron's hand and together they stepped through.

Bill looked over at Charlie and smirked mischievously.

"Cool," Charlie responded, and the two brothers stepped through the wall.

Lupin took Tonk's hand and they stepped to the wall, crashing into it.

Alex approached and cautiously swept her hand over the solid boards. "Vell. It vould appear that the tree of us are not velcomed by diss barrier."

Tonks rubbed her noise gently. "Apparently not."

"But Hermione went through," Lupin observed, "and she is not a Potter, or a Weasley?"

Tonks banged on the wall loudly. "Can you hear us in there?" she yelled at the wall.

They turned to Jarvy, who just shrugged his shoulders. "Jarvy cannot cross the barrier, now that he is a free elf," he squeaked.

Inside the hidden room, at its center, stood a marble pedestal; on top of it were a large half globe stone, and a small, golden, ceremonial dagger. The stone was blood red and so highly polished that it looked like it might have been an oversized drop of blood. The room seemed to be illuminated by a dim pinkish light with no obvious source, and around the pedestal was a ribbon of ruby light that floated and undulated just above the floor at a radius of about two meters.

Harry seemed to be transfixed by the stone as they crossed the barrier, he and Ginny stepped into the room a few paces. Harry released Ginny's hand, dropped his wand and proceeded through the ribbon of light, right up to the stone. Ron and Hermione appeared next to Ginny and stepped to the side allowing for others to follow. Bill and Charlie appeared next. They watched as Harry reached out and placed both his hands on the stone.

There was no time for a reaction as the stone pulsed bright and fluid light moved up Harry's arms quickly engulfing him. Bill raised his wand, but Ginny thrust her arm out to stop him. "No, he's okay," she said.

The light seemed to fade, absorbing into Harry and when it was gone, he turned, a huge smile broad on his face. "It is fantastic," he said, "truly fantastic. I don't believe I'll need those instructions anymore, Hermione."

Hermione looked down at her free hand; she was clutching the parchments so hard she had crushed them. She hastily released Ron's hand and tried to smooth them.

Harry chuckled, and suddenly they could all hear Tonks yelling from the opposite side of the wall.

Harry stepped from the pedestal and picked up his wand. He waved it wordlessly at the wall and Tonks stumbled through the barrier. Lupin, Alex and Jarvy followed her.

Both Lupin and Alex moved toward the ribbon of light, moving around it in opposite directions curiously. "This is amazing Harry, I've never seen anything like it."

"It is indeed a spectacle," Alex said, "I too have never seen its like."

"What needs to be done is very simple," Harry directed. Each of you that is willing and of proper blood, pass through the ribbon, to the stone, cast whatever protective wards you know and then seal the spells by drawing the dagger across your hand, enough to draw blood, and placing your hand on the stone."

"Simple, but a bit intimidating, Mate," Ron said.

Alex raised her hand curiously and reached out. The air around her hand, above the ribbon, sparked and crackled. "Ouch!" she pulled her hand back hastily. "Obviously, I am not of de proper blood." She stepped back to the others clutching her hand.

"Are you hurt?" Ginny asked.

Lupin was moving to Alex's side to examine her hand.

"No, I do not tink I am injured, but my hand is now, how you say? Numb?" Alex said.

"That will pass," Harry said calmly, "There is no permanent damage."

"Well, I'll give it a go," Bill said stepping forward. He moved to the ribbon and tentatively reached in front of him. The air sparked and undulated, but made no crackling sounds and he stepped beyond the ribbon. "It is amazing, Harry," He turned to face the others, "If feels like... well, sorta like a great big hug from Mum."

Harry smiled.

"So, all the wards I know?" Bill asked, as he stepped to the pedestal.

"Anything that will protect the grounds and Manor, including, wards, detection spells, anti-Muggle charms, anything you can think of. Then seal it all to the stone with your blood."

Bill nodded. He turned back to the stone and began casting spells. As a Curse-breaker, his knowledge of wards was perhaps the most extensive in the room and they all watched for a while as he cast spell after spell.

Hermione began to coach Ron on various wards, and Lupin, Tonks, and Alex came over to help as they quietly reviewed various wards and protections with Charlie, Ron and Ginny.

Harry watched Bill quietly.

After about twenty minutes of spell casting Bill quietly picked up the dagger and drew its sharp blade across his palm. He laid his hand over the stone and it glowed momentarily. He drew his hand away looking at it. No evidence of the cut remained. He turned smiling and returned to the group. "Who's next?" he said, he was obviously invigorated by the process.

Charlie went next. Afterward, Ron went, with Hermione and the others coaching him through several spells from outside the ribbon. When Ron was finished, he stepped back across the ribbon of light and Ginny moved forward.

"Ginny," Lupin cautioned, "you are not yet seventeen. The protection may exclude underage Wizards," he said as kindly as possible. "I just don't want you to be surprised, if it excludes you."

Ginny nodded her understanding, but proceeded undeterred. She reached out toward the air above the ribbon and it shimmered spectacularly but she passed inside without rejection. She boldly stepped up to the stone and began to cast spells. She too had to be coached through several spells she had never cast before, but she got through the process brilliantly. When she was finished she stepped back and went to Harry giving him a big hug.

"I guess that just leaves you, Harry," she said smiling as she examined her healed hand.

"I am not so sure about that," Lupin interrupted, "I think we should let Hermione give it a try."

Hermione looked shocked. "Me?" she stammered, "but I am not related to the Potters, or the Weasleys,"

"Perhaps, but you listed five additional family names that could possibly contribute," Lupin reminded, "Perhaps you are in some way related to one of them?"

"You did step right through the first barrier," Tonks said, "remember?"

Hermione looks surprised, "I guess I did, but I was holding Ron's hand, I thought that was the reason."

"Go on, Hermione," Ron encouraged gently, "Give it a go."

Hermione stepped up to the ribbon, looking very unsure, and pulling a face reached out forward. The air shimmered and she stepped through. She turned, excitedly, "I'm... it... it let me inside!"

Harry chortled quietly. "That means you are somehow related to one of the families on the list," he paused, "cousin." He smiled at her.

Hermione grinned and turning began casting spells on the stone.

When Hermione was finished she turned and practically skipping came to Harry giving him a big hug. "No wonder, you've always felt like family to me, Harry."

"Me too, Hermione," Harry said returning her hug.

Harry then stepped through the ribbon and approaching the stone, trance-like, began casting spells. The others waited to see if he would need any coaching, but he did not. In fact, he seemed to cast several spells that were unknown to any of them. Finally he paused, and turning he approached the ribbon. "I need to recast a family variation of the _Fidelius_ charm. It is the main protection of the Manor and the family name, but it required a secret keeper." He paused again. "Jarvy is currently that secret keeper, but he had to be freed to assume that role." The proud little elf stepped forward tentatively. "Leaving him a free elf entails a certain amount of risk to both him and the Manor, so I would like to change keepers."

The others looked about at each other curiously.

"Nymphadora Tonks," Harry said, "Would you be willing to serve as my secret keeper?"

"Harry? Me?" Tonks said surprised.

"Yes, you, Tonks," Harry said confidently. "Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and all the Weasleys are obvious targets. Lupin, was a best friend of my father, which makes him a target as well." Harry turned to Alex. "Alex, you have become a member of the order and you are obviously trusted by its leader, Alastor Moody. We welcome your help, and I welcome you to my home, but I am sorry, I have simply not known you long enough to trust you completely in this matter."

Alex nodded, "You need not explain, Harry, I understand completely."

"Tonks?" Harry turned back to her, "You are a cousin to my Godfather and you have proven your devotion to me and to the cause of the Dark Lord's defeat. You are also a fully trained Auror, and well aware of the risks, can I trust you with this?"

Tonks stepped forward, "Yes, Harry, I would consider it a very great honor."

Harry smiled at her.

"If you would step forward and take Jarvy's hand?" Harry said.

Tonks stepped next to the elf. Jarvy reached his hand up, looking very apologetic that a Wizard would have to hold his hand. Tonks smiled at the elf reassuringly and took it in her own.

Harry stepped around the pedestal so he could face them and began to cast the spell. As he spoke Tonks felt great warmth build up in Jarvy's hand and it began to spread into her. Suddenly, she knew the secret of the Manor's location.

Harry finished the incantation and drawing up the dagger sealed the stone with his blood. The glow of the stone flashed blindingly bright for an instant.

When everyone's vision cleared, Harry was standing up from kneeling next to Jarvy; the elf smiling up at his Master a faint golden glow fading around him.

Harry led them all through the wall and down the narrow wooden steps to the fifth floor landing. There, he instructed Jarvy to serve tea in the drawing room, and the elf disappeared with a 'pop'.

They all made their way down the stairs to the drawing room rather silently.

They all seemed to recover quickly from a sort of daze, and none seemed to be aware of the change of secret keeper, but they were discussing the various wards they had each contributed to the Manor's protections. They enjoyed tea and sandwiches the elves served and the conversation grew lively.

Fleur and Helena joined them and the others explained excitedly about the magical blood stone and how they had reinforced the Manor's wards.

* * *

At six o' clock, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione returned to The Burrow to await the arrival of the rest of the Weasleys, and a few members of the _Order of the Phoenix_.

As requested, Hagrid arrived early and was there at The Burrow when they returned. After greetings and a hearty 'Happy Birthday' from Hagrid, Harry told him about Mr. Eeylop's questions regarding Hedwig and Kyne, and asked if he would help them determine if the two owls had indeed nested.

Hagrid excitedly agreed, and in no time at all they had walked out past the orchard and called for Hedwig and Kyne. The two birds came, each to the arm of their respective owner, but they were clearly anxious. Harry explained to Hedwig that they wanted to know if she'd been nesting, and she lit into the air circling a patch of ground not far to the west, closer to the Otter River. After a few minutes slogging through the underbrush they found a nest and a clutch of seven good sized eggs. Hedwig and Kyne hooted proudly.

After performing a silent examination of the area and the nest sight, Hagrid recommended that they cast a few nest sight protection wards and then leave the owls to their business. He said that it would be possible to move the eggs, but better to just leave the Owls to nature and let it take its course. Harry and Ginny each congratulated their birds and nuzzled them affectionately before telling them to find them at Hogwarts once the hatchlings had left the nest. The birds seemed to understand and Harry left them each a handful of treats on the ground near the nest.

Hagrid cast a few wards around the nest that would protect it from unwanted attention and from any predators. They returned to the house happy at the thought of a nest full snowy hatchlings.

On the way back to The Burrow, Hagrid explained that the hatchlings could be born with a residual magical enchantment and follow their parents when they returned. Or, they might simply choose to follow their natural instincts and adopt purely natural behavior. He promised he would return to check on the clutch and keep Harry and Ginny informed of their progress.

They arrived back at The Burrow in time to greet Mad-Eye Moody and the twins, who were Apparating in for Harry's party. And a short time later, Percy and Penelope arrived, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Oliver Wood.

* * *

Harry smiled as he tore into the shiny wrapping paper covering the small box in his lap. He quickly pulled the last of the ribbon away and nodding at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, whose gift it was he was opening, pulled the top from the box. In the box, on a cushion of soft cotton padding was a beautiful pocket watch. Harry pulled the watch from the box by its chain and held it up.

"It is Wizard tradition that a male child is given a watch on their seventeenth birthday, Harry." Mr. Weasley said in explanation.

"Usually it would be a family heirloom, Harry, but we asked your Grandparents, and... well, there isn't a family watch remaining for you, so we asked if we could give you one," Mrs. Weasley said a bit apologetically. "We hope you don't mind, dear."

Harry nodded approvingly. The whole body was intricately worked. The front of the watch featured a running stag against a forested backdrop. As the watch was turned the trees and leaves swirled into a backdrop of endless space filled with stars and comets and planets. Harry opened the cover to examine the face. Instead of numbers there were moons waxing to the right and waning to the left, and in the center a blazing comet that changed its direction so that its fiery tail blazed toward the correct time, all against a magnificent backdrop of twinkling stars.

"Thank you so much!" Harry grinned, "It is fantastic!" he enthused.

His party was turning out brilliantly. Once everyone was assembled at The Burrow they had come through the pantry door to the Manor, where a little explanation was required for those making their first visit to the Manor. A little time was spent on a quick tour for Hagrid, Kingsley, Oliver Wood, and Percy and Penelope.

The Elves had served an exceptionally delicious feast of all of Harry's favorite foods in the formal dinning room, and Harry had felt a stirring of pride at being able to share his home with so many people he considered friends. Ginny, despite side glances from her parents was acting every bit the hostess, sticking to Harry's arm, sitting at his right side, instructing the Elves and generally conducting the evening.

After dinner, with everyone groaning in satiated pleasure, they had adjourned to the sitting room were the chairs had been set in a large circle, and Harry's gifts were set on a low table at its center. Glancing around the circle Harry couldn't help but smile as everyone was encouraging him to open his gifts.

He had torn into them with pleasure. As he had opened each one, Winky was there to spirit away the scrap wrappings and carefully take each gift to a side table to set it neatly on display, after it had made its way around the circle for everyone's examination and approval. The little Elf was amazing Harry had thought, attentive and discrete, and beamingly happy, not a hint of the bedraggled, drunken, sullen, creature that Dobby had presented with earlier that day.

Harry handed the beautiful watch to Ron, on his left so that it could be passed around.

"I guess that's everything," Harry said, as no more presents seemed to be before him.

"No," Ginny interrupted, "one more." Ginny handed Harry what seemed to be a Birthday card in a silver and gold envelop with a small glittering bow. "This one's from me," she smiled, "though, I do have to credit Fred and George for finding it." She nodded to her brothers a few seats along the circle to Harry's left.

Harry opened the envelope and pulled the card out. At first it appeared to be a Muggle style greeting card, but there was only a patch of blue sky surrounded by an elaborately gilded border. Words formed along the bottom. "Here's hoping you capture the snitch of your dreams." A golden snitch flitted into the patch of sky, followed abruptly by an excited, illustrated seeker, which clearly was meant to resemble Harry in his Gryffindor colors. The illustrated Harry reached out and snatched the snitch. Harry opened the card and the illustrated Harry, hovered above the card opening the golden ball. A miniature volley of fireworks burst out of the snitch and flew toward the center of the gathering were they burst into an explosion of color. "Happy Birthday Harry" formed in the bursting lights and glittered away as it fell toward the floor.

Everyone cheered and clapped at the spectacle. "The first of our new line of personalized greeting cards." George called triumphantly.

"That's brilliant," Ron said appreciatively.

Ginny was ignoring the fireworks display and watching Harry intently as he looked down at the card in his hands and noticed a second smaller envelope setting there within it.

Harry handed the card to Ron and picked out the smaller envelope. Opening it he pulled out a lone Chocolate Frog Card. Harry stared at it in disbelief.

"What is it?" Oliver Wood asked, first to notice, as the fireworks ended.

"That there is a rare, first edition, Dumbledore, Frog card," Fred explained, "Ginny said you had to have it, so George and I tracked one down," he explained.

"Wasn't easy either," George finished.

Harry held the little card in front of him. The image of a considerably younger looking Dumbledore appeared on the card standing in front of the desk in the Headmasters office at Hogwarts. The image smiled and bowed politely and then turned out of the image. Harry noticed that what could be seen of the desk included a familiar glass candy jar of sherbet lemons. Harry smiled broadly at Ginny. "Thank you, Ginny," he said simply leaning over and giving her a quick kiss.

Intentionally not fussing over the card too much, Harry handed it to Ron who gushed over it, explaining to Hermione how rare the card was and what a prize it was to any Chocolate Frog Card collection.

Harry snuck a peek at the mantel over the fireplace where, as promised he had left another Dumbledore card sitting in the enchanted base to overlook the festivities. He thought he saw the little figure wink at him, but it was too far away to be sure.

"Thank you everyone for such very wonderful gifts," Harry stood, "I could not have asked for better." Harry bowed politely to the company before him. "Now..."

"Vait!" Alex interrupted, "In Romania, it is an important tradition when a Vizard celebrates deir comink of age Birthday, dat each friend in attendance tell de story of how dey first met," She looked around the circle, "Dis is not also tradition here?" She asked.

"It is indeed," Moody interjected, "but one that has fallen largely out of practice. I think however, in Harry's case it would be a pleasant tradition to revive."

"Okay," Alex nodded. "As I am, I hope a new friend to Mr. Potter, I vill begin."

Alex described first meeting Harry upon her entrance into The Burrow only a few weeks before, she flattered him by calling him a determined and able looking protector, standing there with his wand out ready to defend the Weasley's home. She managed to make him sound very noble. Harry nodded and smiled as she finished.

Alex turned to Charlie who was seated next to her in the circle. Charlie told a story about meeting Harry when he came to Hogwarts with Dragons for the Tri-wizard Tournament.

Helena was next, and her impressions echoed her mother's.

Fleur told of meeting Harry in the confusion of his being chosen as a Tri-wizard champion.

Bill described a simple first meeting at The Burrow.

George and Fred told of meeting an eleven year old Harry on the platform at King's Cross and helping in to the Express with his trunk.

Hermione and Ron talked of meeting Harry that same day on the Express.

Ginny, sheepishly described first seeing Harry that same day on the platform, but she maintained that they had really first met the following summer when her brother's had rescued him from the Dursley's and brought him to the Burrow.

Remus Lupin, told a marvelous tale of meeting Harry on the day of his birth. Of being there with his parents and Sirius at the Cottage in Godric's Hollow as the St. Mungo's Mid-wife had presented the black haired babe, gurgling and cooing, to his spell stricken parents and a proud Godfather.

Tonks talked colorfully of bursting into Harry's bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive to rescue him, and take him to Grimmauld Place.

Hagrid told of frantically arriving at the ruined Cottage and finding the young Harry, sitting stricken in his cot. Hagrid described him in much the same way he would have any lost or wounded animal, as he gathered Harry up from the wreckage and secured him comfortably inside his mole skin coat and spirited him away to safety.

Mad-eye told a tale of going with Dumbledore to visit the Potters at their home some months after Harry's birth and being amazed that the infant was allowed to play so roughly with what he thought at first was the family dog, a huge black dog he described, with paws as big a the babe's head. He described how the dog curled in front of the fireplace and gently nuzzled the infant Harry who clung to its thick fur and drifted to sleep in the warmth of the animal's patient attendance. If he'd had his magical eye then, he would have known, he proclaimed, that the dog was actually Sirius Black.

Kingsley echoed Tonk's tale of retrieving Harry from Privet Drive.

Oliver Wood, told of his introduction to Harry by Professor McGonagall, proclaiming proudly that she had found his Quidditch team a new seeker.

Penelope described a meeting Harry had not remembered, of directing a lost looking first year toward the dungeon classrooms for his first potions lesson.

Percy told of a brief introduction at the Gryffindor table just after Harry had been sorted.

Arthur, told of finding an extra child seated at his breakfast table one morning and eagerly discussing Muggle objects. When he finished his short tale he turned to his wife Molly, who was the last around the circle.

Harry was amazed at the tales he had heard around this circle of friends, and was filled with wonderful warmth, as he anticipated a simple story of introduction from Mrs. Weasley.

Molly Weasley, cleared her throat and looked across the circle at a waiting Harry. She glanced at Ginny and then at Arthur, who took her hand and nodded to her.

"I have a tale to tell you, Harry, that only a few in this room are remotely aware of," she paused glancing at Hagrid. "It is the story of how I first met you, and it will shed some light on why I have oft thought of you as part of my family. I apologize if it may embarrass you a little," she paused again.

"On the night that your parents were killed, I was at home. Arthur and I had joined the _Order of the Phoenix_ but as I had Ron, who was a twenty month old toddler, and only recently weaned, and Ginny who was not even three months old, not to mention a houseful of then young children," she glanced around at the twins and Percy, I had not been asked to do anything of particular service to the cause."

"On that dreadful night I was knitting in front of a comfortable fire, the children having gone to bed, when a Phoenix Patronus swept into the room. It was Dumbledore's Patronus and it informed me that my services to the _Order_ were needed immediately. It said that Arthur was to arrive home directly to care for the children, but that I should gather myself and my youngest to go to a safe house in Wales."

"I nervously gathered Ginny from her cot and threw together a few supplies for her care before Arthur arrived. He explained that your parents had been killed, and that you were being taken to a safe-house and someone was needed to look after you until permanent arrangements could be made. Arthur gave me a Portkey, I kissed the boys in their sleep and off I went, babe in arms, to do what I could for the _Order_."

"I arrived at what appeared to be an unused cottage in a dark and lonely wood. I had barely time to start a fire before Hagrid arrived on that awful, noisy, motorcycle of your Godfather's. Hagrid ran up to the door and thrust you in to my arms, saying he had to keep going in case he was being followed . He took off like a flash leaving me alone with you, and a thankfully sleeping Ginny."

"You were so small, Harry," Molly began to tear a little at the memories. "You were nearly a year and a half old, but smaller than any of my own at that age. You must have been in some sort of shock, and the fresh wound on your forehead was red and inflamed. I tried healing charms, but nothing seemed to make a difference. You whimpered and shook in my arms, but you never wailed," Molly paused again leaning on Arthur for emotional support. "I couldn't imagine then, what you had witnessed and what you had survived. Even today, I can hardly image it." She composed herself with a deep breath and continued. "I didn't know how long you had been unattended, your were soiled and covered in small bits of debris, so there was nothing for it but to give you a warm bath, wrap you in one of Ginny's fresh blankets until I could get a chance to wash your own things, and rock you in front of the fire."

"You settled some but you were understandably fussy. When Ginny woke for her nightly feeding, I realized that you must be hungry too. I don't mean to embarrass, you dear, but I had nothing else to feed you, so I did what any compassionate Mother would do, I nursed you right along with Ginny, rocking you both by the fire, until you had each had your fill and fallen asleep in my arms."

"I have never known a night of fear like that night, thinking that any minute; Death-Eaters would burst in and carry you away. I was up the whole night holding you and Ginny, singing to you both and keeping watch. When the dawn came, I conjured a cot and laid you both together whilst I attended to washing your things. I must have dozed off in the rocker after that, but later I woke up and found the two of you awake in the cot, just watching one another intently. You babbled on at Ginny so expressively and she gurgling back at you, smiling and giggling."

"We spent that whole day together, just the three of us in that little cottage, and I must say you were a little angel, you were so gentle with Ginny, and seemed to want to attend to her. The only time either of you cried was when I tried to pick one of you up without the other."

"Getting on toward evening, Dumbledore's Patronus appeared again and told me to get you ready for Hagrid to retrieve you, and take you to where you would be living permanently. I must say, by that point I had determined that you should just come home with me. And, years later when I got an inkling of what your life with your Aunt and Uncle had been like; I truly wish I would have just taken you."

"Hagrid arrived quite late and I gave you to him. You woke up then and started to cry, and to this day I think it was more because you were being taken from Ginny than anything else. After that, I gathered Ginny and Apparated home." Molly retrieved a kerchief from her robe and dabbed at her eyes.

"I have never told that story to anyone but Arthur. So, you see Harry, I will always consider you like one of my own, and you will always have a bit of home in my heart."

Hagrid sniffled loudly and Harry found that his own eyes were a bit moist.

Harry got up from his chair and crossed to Mrs. Weasley, giving her a big hug. "Thank you so much for telling me," he said.

Harry released Mrs. Weasley who sat back in her chair turning to her husband.

"So, I think perhaps it is time for cake?" Harry said turning to the others in the room.

Instantly a large cake appeared on a table in the center of the circle and Harry moved to pick up the serving knife as the others gathered around taking up dessert plates.

After gorging themselves on Harry's birthday cake, the room broke up in to smaller conversational groups, with some playing games, or just visiting.

Harry got in to a game of exploding snap with the twins, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, which went on for some time.

About eleven o' clock Harry found himself sitting back contentedly in a large leather chair before the smiling portraits of his Grandparents, thinking that this had been the best Birthday he had ever had.

Suddenly, something deep in Mad-eye Moody's coat began to wail. He fished the object out and looked at it intently. He looked up at the surrounding company and said, "Death-Eater attacks, multiple locations! Those of you, who are _Order_ members, follow me. He started to move to the door, toward the hallway, but Jarvy had produced the _Portis Omnibus_ and set it to a doorway leaving the room. The blue lattice of light glowed faintly as he opened the door.

"This way to The Burrow," Jarvy announced.

Moody turned and nodded to the little Elf. Others were already heading through the door.

Harry rushed up to Moody, drawing his wand. Everyone here is in the _Order _except Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I, and we all want to come fight.

"Drawing you out, is the most likely reason for these attacks, tonight, you are safest if you remain here," Moody retorted.

"I agree completely," came Arthur's voice over Moody's shoulder. Arthur was pulling on his travelling robe and stepping to Moody's side. "Ginny, you are to remain here at the Manor until we can come to retrieve you," Arthur turned to Harry. "I know you want to fight, Harry, but I would appreciate it if you would watch over Ginny tonight." Arthur's eyes were deeply intense as they met Harry's.

"Yes sir," Harry said finally.

Everyone rushed through the doorway leaving Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione standing there, a bit defeated.

Jarvy closed the door.

* * *

**_Please review - Thanks!_**

**NEXT**  
Chapter Eighteen  
**Shaman's Way**


	19. Shaman's Way

Chapter Eighteen  
**Shaman's Way**

Draco leaned heavily on his shovel handle and pried up yet another stone from the ruddy earth. This was, by his count, his seventh week in the encampment with the men and boys and his third straight week working on this particular clearing. His task was rather straightforward; he was to clear the field of large stones, presumably to make it suitable as a pasture for one of the herds of animals. Knowing the reason for the work didn't help to break the monotony of the task, or diminish the harshness of the hard labor beneath the tropical sun.

He had cleared another field, but it had been much smaller, and much less populated by rock. He had begun to suspect that the earlier field had been cleared at least once before. He did not understand why this work could not be done magically. The answer to that question, as he had pondered it seemed to be that it could. So, he had rephrased the question in his mind; why did he have to do this work manually? The answer to that question was proving much more elusive.

After about a month of these manual tasks Draco had gathered the courage to ask the Shaman if he was a prisoner. The Shaman, had chuckled at the question and asked him; "If I told you that you were free to leave at any time, where would you go?" Draco did not even know where he was, so he couldn't really imagine how to leave. He had not learned how to Apparate properly on his own, and even if he had it would do him no good, as he could not likely Apparate far enough to reach the edge of the jungle. That is, even if he had known a direction to begin.

The Shaman had watched him thinking, and then after a minute had said, "I am not your jailer, Dracho. I am a teacher."

"When then, will I begin to learn?" Draco had responded sharply.

"There are things to be learned in every moment, of every task," The Shaman had responded calmly, "When you begin to learn them, is up to you. Only you will determine when each new lesson begins."

Draco had turned away in complete frustration, returning eventually to his task. His anger at that encounter had remained for days.

In truth, the labor, though monotonous and tiring had become much easier to bear, what were most troubling were his dreams. Every night he had dreams of his life, memories of his past. For the first several weeks he had seen these dreams as his longing to return to the life he knew, to the comforts of his home in England, and the excesses of his family's social and economic standing. Gradually, the focus of his thoughts had turned, and now he saw each memory as a glaring example of a life dependent on a situation that no longer existed for him.

Draco knew for certain that he no longer believed in the goals of the Dark Lord, in fact he saw the man, if he could in truth be called that, as an evil tyrant who must be defeated. This realization was causing him to look carefully at his life, and consider it in comparison to other people he knew to be widely admired in the Wizarding world back in England. Not the people he had always looked to as examples; his father, his Aunt Bellatrix, but people he had never before considered worthy of note, people like Albus Dumbledore, the faculty at Hogwarts, and even, though it pained him to admit it, Harry Potter.

Many of these people would have described him as a spoiled, selfish, self centered, brat, and he would have always until now shrugged away such descriptions as the petty jealousies of lesser people. But, the Dark Lord too had called him these things, and drove home the point with torture and unspeakable horror. And, Voldemort had branded his face with what he called the mark of a coward. Even though he now considered the Dark Lord his worst enemy, Voldemort had managed to drive home a lesson that Draco had never before considered, and had always been taught otherwise. Some part of him knew now that there was truth in these descriptions and facing these truths was a difficult realization. He did not want to be that person anymore, but, how did one change oneself? How did one become something other than what they were raised to be? He was frustrated by this thinking, some part of him deep inside raged against it.

His father had always driven into him that he belonged to the highest class of Wizard and therefore he was entitled to expect people to serve him. And, people had served him, just as they had served his father, but Draco was not unintelligent, he had observed many times that his father expected and received the service of others, but always it was minimal, always it was the least that could be gotten away with, and always his father met it with complaint, disdain and anger.

Draco jabbed the shovel blade into the ground to pry up another stone, and as he did so the realization hit him suddenly as though he had jabbed the blade into his own mind and pried up a buried truth. His father was all the things he -Draco- had been accused of. Lucius Malfoy was every bit the spoiled, selfish, self centered brat that people said he was, and Draco had to admit that he had been his father's son. The difference was only that Lucius was older; he commanded the wealth of the Malfoy family. He expected to be served and he was, but only because people feared him, and what he could and would do to them. Nobody liked his father, in fact, they hated him, and even his closest business associates clearly didn't trust him. Small wonder Lucius had sided with the Dark Lord. Voldemort offered the promise of superiority imposed by power and force. The only way that Lucius had ever known it. But the truth was that it didn't really exist. If it was imposed it couldn't be real.

Draco pulled up the stone and rolled it aside. His mind was racing. His entire life, everything he had been taught was false. It was so obvious it was funny.

Draco began to chuckle. He jabbed the shovel blade back into the earth and there was a sickening wrenching sound as it impacted a stone. He felt an instant of anger. He pulled the blade up and examined it. The tip of the blade was bent and flattened at nearly a ninety-degree angle. He felt anger building inside him as he stared at the shovel. But instead of rage bursting forth, his lips curled up and he let loose a huge laugh. He dropped the shovel and took a few steps away, leaning finally on his own knees as he bent over in laughter. He could not stop laughing.

Memories of his childish anger began to bubble up inside of him, all the times he had lashed out, called people harsh names, or cast about insults. It was all absurd, and suddenly comically immature. As the memories bombarded him he felt remorse for the first time, actual sorrow at his behavior, he wanted to cry, but it all continued to burst out of him as laughter.

He had always wanted to be liked and admired, but he had learned only to inspire dislike. Those who did seem to admire him, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and a host of other Slytherins; they only did so because they had been raised the same way, and their fathers were beholden to his father. It was all an absurd web of monetary power, and it was all an illusion. He felt pity for them and in a sense for himself, but he could not stop laughing.

Draco fell to the ground on his hands and knees, laughing. He was laughing so hard that tears began to stream from his eyes. He felt the swirling memories in his head begin to run together, along with every act of pettiness, every time he had mistreated someone just because he could, all of it serving no purpose but to support his own illusion of reality.

He realized slowly that his tears of laughter were turning into tears of sorrow and regret. He wanted to be rid of it all and he felt it move from his head lurching into his stomach. He sobbed heavily and vomited as if to expel all of the memories.

As he did so the ground beneath him began to rumble and shake. As he retched up violently a lifetime of memories and misdeeds, the ground itself did the same with the stones he was there to clear, they burst up from the earth like the memories he was so eager to expel.

When he was done, and there was nothing left in his stomach to be expelled he felt a relief he had never known he rolled over laying on the uneven ground resting his head on a large stone that had just slipped itself from the ground's grasp. He chuckled again, suddenly realizing how hungry he was, but there was something else there too, something new to him something he had not before experienced, not even in the midst of his torture at the hands of the Dark Lord. It was the sense that he had done many very wrong things with his life. It was, he thought, guilt.

Draco knew now, he had much to atone for.

At the edge of the field, in the cover of the trees, the Shaman stood watching. He smiled, and turned away.

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon hefting stones onto a makeshift wooden sled and pulling them to the edge of the field where he piled them together. It was backbreaking labor, but it was going very fast, especially now that the stones sat atop the ground, wrested from the grip of the earth by some magical effect of his emotional outburst. He smiled to think that he had actually, finally done it by magic.

By the time the sun had disappeared behind the hills, leaving the field cast in long shadow, Draco had completed clearing the stones. He looked out over the field with intense satisfaction, something that felt new and strange to him. He gathered his broken shovel and his leather bag and headed up the path toward the encampment, and his little solitary shelter. When he arrived he leaned the shovel against a post in the ground and hung the bag on a peg at the top of the post.

He stood and watched the main camp building for a short while. As always he could see the glint of fires from within and hear what sounded like the boisterous din of conversation. It reminded him for a moment of the Hogwarts great hall during mealtime, even though he could not understand a word of the foreign language. For a moment he felt himself longing to join in that merriment.

He was exhausted, as he had been at the end of every day for seven weeks, but this night felt somehow different. Gone was any hint of resentment, anger or fear. He was oddly content. He turned and entered his small shelter. He lay down on his grass matt and fell quickly into a deep sleep. That night, he had no dreams of his life that had been.

* * *

Severus Snape hurried down the long corridor of the old castle toward the throne room. He slipped in through the heavy oak doors, into what was a crowd of murmuring Death-Eaters. The room was a mixture of tension and exhilaration. Those Death-Eaters who had completed their night's tasks were eager to report their accomplishments to the Dark Lord. Others, who had not been so successful, were understandably wary.

Snape was indifferent, as he had been given no task and therefore had no anticipation of having to report anything. He had spent much of the night in the potions laboratory tending to the many cauldrons in various stages of preparation. The Dark Lord demanded a large stock of potions be kept on hand for many various uses, and for the use of his Death-Eaters, so Snape was kept very busy most of the time simply tending that very rudimentary task. It was not as glorious a function as he might have liked, but it kept him occupied and in the Dark Lord's good graces, and so he saw to it diligently.

Snape skirted the side wall making his way toward the right side enclosed wooden seating gallery. His position of favor with the Dark Lord afforded him the front corner seat nearest the throne, opposite Bellatrix Lestrange who occupied its mirror in the left gallery.

Since leaving England and having experienced greater success in Eastern Europe, the Dark Lord had begun to impose far more ceremony to his appearances. Because the ranks of the Death-Eaters had grown so rapidly, part of this was necessary just to maintain an authoritative structure. But certainly, as Snape well understood, much of it was just Voldemort establishing himself as "Lord" Voldemort, and succumbing to his own ego.

Snape arrived at his seat amid stares and the usual grumblings and empty flattering comments from postulants to the inner circle. He was surprised to find a folded scrap of parchment left on his seat. He snatched it up as he sat and guardedly unfolded it, reading the note.

_We seek escape from the Dark Lord's grasp. Rumor has it that you may be willing and able to help us. Go to the Postern gate at noon if you are willing to help._

Snape slipped the note into his robe pocket, and prepared his hood and Death's head mask for the Dark Lord's entrance.

Thankfully the proceedings had only lasted a couple of hours. All the reports throughout Eastern Europe were much the same. Most of the magical governments had bowed quite willingly to Voldemort's demands and the programs of sorting by blood worthiness were proceeding quickly.

Snape was not naive enough to believe that there wasn't far greater resistance than was being reported, and he knew that Voldemort knew the same, but no one was fool enough to report this to the Dark Lord, and he was likewise content to let these local henchmen deal with their local problems for as long as they were able.

Snape heard nothing of any particular interest until finally Rodolphus Lestrange stood to deliver his report on the events in England of the previous evening. There had been several planned attacks on magical locations, including shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. There had also been attacks on Muggle locations which Rodolphus reported as going just as planned. This piqued Snape's curiosity, but there was no way for him to inquire as to specifics. If the Dark Lord intended to inform him further he would do so in his own time.

When the proceedings concluded, Snape was quick to exit the throne room without being drawn into conversation. Mentally calculating his options he proceeded to the Dark Lord's private chambers. He rapped purposefully on the door, aware that an interruption so soon after the proceedings might not be particularly welcome, but Snape no longer possessed the excuse of distance and other duties to prevent him from reporting quickly to the Dark Lord. He knocked again.

"Enter," came the Dark Lord's command.

Snape pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Voldemort was sitting at a table looking over a number of documents. He looked up as Snape entered the room. "Ah Severus," he greeted idly, acknowledging Snape's presence. He turned back to the document he had been reading. He set it down carelessly.

"Bureaucrats," he said with a distinct air of distaste. "No matter how governments change, they will ever be present." He pushed the pile of parchment away from him. "And the paperwork they feel compelled to produce never ceases." He eyed Snape intently. "Perhaps I should enlist you in deciphering all of this?" he said.

Snape bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I would be pleased to serve however my Lord sees fit," he said.

Voldemort seemed just short of chuckling at Snape's response. "I presume you have a purpose for this visit?" he asked.

"Yes, Lord," Snape said as he hesitantly approached. He reached into his robe pocket and slowly drew out the note. "I found this," he gestured with his hand to draw attention to the slip of parchment, "set on my seat, before this morning's proceedings." He set the parchment on the table within Voldemort's reach and backed away a few steps.

Voldemort snatched up the note and read it. He chuckled darkly. "So," he stood, picking up his wand and turning to Snape, "we have treachery in our midst." His expression turned hard and angry. "Have you any idea who this is from?"

"None, my Lord," Snape answered slowly and truthfully.

"Or why it would come to you?" Voldemort spat, eyeing Snape with a hint of suspicion.

"Because of my past association with Dumbledore, perhaps" Snape offered.

"Yes," Voldemort said almost to himself, "yes, of course." The Dark Lord paced back and forth quickly, his wand wagging carelessly in his slender fingers. "This cannot go unpunished, Severus," he stopped again facing Snape. "You will go to the Postern Gate. You will do whatever you need to reveal where this note comes from. And, when you discover its origin, you will alert me." The Dark Lord looked excited and gleeful. Having made his decision, he handed the note back to Snape.

Snape pocketed the note, bowed his head low and answered, "yes, my Lord," he quickly turned and exited the room.

Less than an hour later, Snape arrived at the Postern gate. It was almost exactly noon. The gate had been unused for years and was quite rusted shut. He stood beneath the arch and waited. After a few minutes a young girl appeared on the other side. She said nothing, but pushed her small hand through the grate and handed him another slip of parchment. She then hurried away out of sight.

Snape glanced at the parchment. Written there was the name of a tavern, _Gheară de Dragon_. Snape recognized the name of the place, though he had never been. He knew it to be remotely located on the other side of the village a few hundred meters into the forest along the main road. He tucked the parchment into his robe pocket and pulled out his wand, leveling it at the heavy, rusted, gate latch. "_Alohomora_," he said decisively. The latch popped open and the gate, protesting, creaked slowly open.

Snape, slipped through the gate, on to the village road, taking a few hurried steps to put him beyond the reach of the castle wards. There was a hollow imploding "pop" and he was gone.

* * *

Draco woke before the sun. Without his dreams nagging at his mind he actually felt better rested than he had since his mother's death. The thought hit him like a new realization, as if he had not been previously aware. He felt tears trail down his cheeks and realized that they were for her.

He had been taught not to cry, that it was a sign of weakness, but somehow these tears felt right and he did not try to hold them back. Memories flooded his mind, of his mother, and he felt as though he was seeing them for the first time. Her grace, her beauty, her concern, and her kindness, all suddenly realized in a new light, his mother had loved him. Unlike his father she had never dictated what he should be or not be. She had made attempts to correct him, but always with kindness. He had been taught by his father to ignore her, a lesson he had absorbed like so many others, but now he knew completely that his father's lessons had all been wrong. He knew that he truly had loved his mother. And now she was gone, and he could only weep for her.

It was truly for her that he wept, the loss of her hurt deeply, but he did not cry for his loss, he cried for her. She had been a beautiful woman, born in to one of the proudest, most prejudicial of pure-blood families, forced into an arranged marriage, made a Death-eater at her husband's command and cast in to a role she would not have chosen for herself.

Draco felt that he had been a disappointment to her, even though she had never said it, how could it be otherwise. But even till the last she had loved him. He was suddenly thankful that the Shaman had provided a means for him to save her, for unless it had been an illusion he had been able to do just that. That was who he wanted to be now. A man that would do what was right, not a boy cowering at the forces around him. He continued to weep for her, believing that she was now in a better place, and free of her earthly bonds. He would miss her, every day of the rest of his life.

There was movement on the path from the main building and Draco looked up to see the Shaman approaching. He got up from his grass matt and stepped out to receive his new task, he had after all, finished clearing the field.

The Shaman strode up to his small shelter and stopped at the post. He looked down at the bent blade of the shovel and Draco thought that he saw a hint of a smile cross his lips.

Draco stepped before him, suddenly aware of what a mess he was, his hands and feet seemed permanently covered in dirt, his hair, which had grown longer than he had ever worn it before was matted to his head with mud and his unshaven face he imagined was a scruffy mess that would have embarrassed him under other circumstances. "I am ready for my next task," Draco said, with no hint of resentment.

"Are you?" the Shaman questioned.

"Yes, Sir," Draco said without hesitation.

The Shaman seemed to be examining him closely. "Tell me Dracho," the shaman began, "What have you learned so far in your time here?"

Draco reflected on this for a moment. "I have learned that there is nothing dishonorable about labor without magic, that it can strengthen my body and calm my mind."

"And," the Shaman prompted.

Draco, was unsure what the Shaman wanted to hear. He groped for more conclusions. "And," he continued somewhat hesitantly, "I have learned that my dreams can help me to examine my life."

"Ah, and have you drawn any conclusions about your life?" the Shaman asked intently.

Draco met the man's eyes, they were dark and shadowed in the dim of early morning, but he thought that what he found there was calm, genuine compassion. "Yes," he started confidently, "I have concluded that I can no longer be the person I have been, that I have to choose another path, and learn another way.

"And are you ready to put aside your habits of scorn, prejudice, anger and the idea that there is anything about you that is in any way any better than any other?"

The Shaman's gaze upon him seemed to deepen and Draco knew that only the truth would do.

"I am ready to try, Sir," Draco said.

There was a long pause. "Very good, Dracho, I am glad to hear it. Trying is where it begins, but do not try without focusing on less than triumph. I have looked into you and know the life you have led. It is a web of falsehoods, built upon illusions of birthright. You were born a magical being, but this gift does not make you more than human." There was another pause. "I believe you are ready for your next challenge, but I warn you, while your tasks will change, they will become no less a demanding. If you can find joy in the challenge, you will surely succeed."

Draco nodded silently.

"Wait here, I will send another for you." The Shaman took the leather bag from the peg and picked up the broken shovel. "You will not need this any longer," he said. He shook his staff at it and it transformed back in to the stick it had once been. He handed it to Draco. He turned and walked away along the path to the main building.

Draco examined the stick in his hands. It was about a half meter long, mostly straight and ended in a heavy burl, where it had once been part of a tree. The opposite end was broken and worn. He peeled back some of the grey bark to reveal a brilliantly orange wood beneath. It was about three centimeters thick and felt good in his hands. He decided to keep it, as a reminder of his labors. He set it inside his small shelter on the grass mat.

He had made his decision. All that he had been, he would leave in that cleared field, and he would become something better. For now he would do what he was asked and learn what was taught. He would try this the Shaman's way, even though he was uncertain of what that way was exactly. Anything he became from this point on would surely be better than what he was.

* * *

Snape appeared on the road, outside the village, near the forest. Without knowing an exact location he dared not Apparate further. He proceeded up the road, the cobblestones giving way to the worn earth at the forest's edge. After a hundred meters or so he could see the tavern in the distance. It was an ancient structure of stone, timbers and plaster, and looked, like so much of the Wizarding world, like it existed in another time. The surrounding forest cast a grayness about it that made it seem bathed in evening, even under the noontime sun.

Snape approached warily, his senses on alert. A couple of women exited the building as he approached. They were quiet, pulling their robe hoods over their heads and offering no greeting as they passed him on the road. A large sign hung from a wrought iron bracket over the door. It pictured an elaborate, stylized carving of a Romanian Longhorn, and the name of the establishment, _Gheară de Dragon. _Snape paused at the heavy doorway, then, pulling it open, stepped cautiously inside.

He stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim room. The active conversations seemed to pause momentarily at his entrance, and he thought that he detected a muffled gasp or two at his presence, but the sounds of conversations and the clinking of utensils quickly resumed. He approached the bar and ordered a tankard of ale from the large hairy barman, before spying an open booth and moving to sit down. He sipped his drink and waited, noting that several people seemed to be finishing hurriedly and departing the tavern. He was glad of this. A weary looking, though otherwise attractive, barmaid came to the table and asked if he would like anything to eat. He declined, gesturing to his drink, and she half smiled at him as she turned away.

After several long minutes and fully half of his ale, three men got up from a long table near the front and approached his booth. Snape counted seven still at the table, some of them eyeing him suspiciously. The eldest looking of the three men greeted him and asked if they could sit.

Snape gestured to the seats. "If you will forgive me," he said, "my Romanian is quite horrid, do you speak English?"

The older man nodded, "my English is surely no better than your Romanian," he said in a thickly accented, haggard, voice.

"You are the one who sent the note?" Snape asked calmly.

"Not I, no," The man said, "that was my son," he gestured to the man across from him seated next to Snape.

Snape looked at the man next to him and thought that he had seen him at the castle, though they had never spoken.

"These are dark times, and this new ruler in the castle, this man whose name shall not be spoken, who pulls upon the strings of governments, he is no greater than any despot who has ever claimed an unearned throne," the older man said.

"These are dangerous, traitorous words you speak," Snape spoke calmly, "I should be very careful to whom you express such thoughts."

"True enough, but you have come, so you can only have one of two purposes." The elder man began. "If you have come to help as we have asked, than my words can be of no surprise to you, and may even echo the truth of your own heart. Or, you are here to expose us, in which case the truth, remains the truth, and it does not change our desire to escape from tyranny." He paused and looked closely at Snape. "So, tell me is there any hope of escape?"

Snape took a draw from his ale. "In the long term, I know of only one hope, but it resides in the life of boy back in England and will be of no help to you here, and now."

The old man frowned. "And in the short term?"

"If you can travel through the mountains to Latveria, you may escape the Dark Lord's wrath, but I cannot help you, my hands are tied."

"This is all you can offer?" The younger man next to him spat. He got up from the booth and drew his wand leveling it at Snape. "Then we are already betrayed," he shouted. With his wand pointed at Snape he backed away, the others got up from the booth and hurried back to the table where the rest of the company were hurriedly gathering their things and making for the door.

Snape flicked his wand beneath the table placing a sealing charm on the room. The front door closed and locked. There were several "pops" from attempted Apparition, but the Tavern was obviously warded against it as no one disappeared.

Others in the room, seeing and hearing the conflict were also rising hurriedly to try to leave. The Barman, and Barmaid had disappeared somewhere into the back of the building.

Still beneath the table, Snape exposed his left arm and touched his wand tip to the Dark Mark. He sighed heavily.

At once he heard the familiar popping displacement of air that was the arrival of the Dark Lord, the power of the dark mark easily overriding the Tavern's wards. As Voldemort arrived in a swirl of darkness and fury, there were several futile, shouted spells that bounced around the room, easily deflected by the Dark Lord who cackled with sadistic laughter.

People were ducking behind the tables and chairs, and some behind the bar as the exchange of wand fire continued. Bits of furniture erupted all around the room as spells bounced furiously destroying many of the tables and chairs. The mirrors behind the bar shattered and Voldemort sent the shards cascading at his attackers, striking with sickening thuds into upturned tables being now used as shields. Several people were caught in the volley and fell wailing and bleeding to the floor.

Snape casually cast his own shield charm as the Dark Lord furiously cast destructive spells, blowing out most of the windows and knocking his attackers to the ground. Finally, Voldemort yelled "_Petrificus Totalus_" and everyone visible in the room froze.

As the dust settled Snape could hear the moans of the wounded on the floor and behind the bar. The smell of fear permeated the air.

The Dark Lord turned to where Snape still sat in his booth, his wand in one hand the other covering his drink. "Severus, my servant," Voldemort said with pleasure, "You have done well."

Snape nodded, "Yes, my Lord," he said with a hint of defeat in his voice, as he raised his mug to finish his ale.

Voldemort began casually circling the room. "First," he proclaimed, "those who would dare raise their wands against me; they shall know ultimate defeat." He hatefully cast "_Avada Kadvra_" upon each who had a raised and pointed wand. Twelve bodies fell dead against the floor boards.

"And, who are the traitors, Severus?" he gestured to the remaining statuesque figures.

Snape pointed to the group nearest the door, four of which had already fallen before the Dark Lord. "These, my Lord," Snape identified them, with no alternative to do otherwise.

Voldemort approached the group, and carefully removed their wands, snapping them each in turn and dropping them to the floor as he spoke. "So, you wish to escape me?" he chuckled darkly. "Many have had this same thought I warrant, but few have been fool enough to declare it." He paused, snapping the last two wands. "What price I wonder should I exact for your treachery?"

At that moment a woman at the far end of the bar attempted to flee into what must have been the kitchen, Voldemort yelled "_Avada Kadavra_," and the woman fell dead in the doorway.

"I dislike interruptions," he said coolly. Abject horror glared in the eyes of the petrified group. He turned to the bar and pointing his wand yelled "_Flammæ devorantis,_" a jet of fire leaped from his wand and the bar erupted into flames. There were screams from behind as the flames consumed the whole space and the wall and ceiling caught fire. The whole room began to fill with thick black smoke as it billowed across the beamed ceiling and poured out the destroyed windows.

Voldemort turned back to the group of six and cried, "_Crucio_," at once they were released from the petrifaction and fell writhing to the ground.

Voldemort flashed his wand again and deep slashes tore across the faces and chests of the six on the ground, blood flowing freely.

"This is the worst sort of treachery," he spoke to the few still petrified, figures in the room, "Wizards, turning against me." There was a long pause, the six still writhing, and screaming on the floor. "This is a sad day, but, one that shall leave a lasting memory in those few of you who remain," he released the petrified figures, who ducked to the floor beneath the smoke, but remained still. "Spread well the cost of such treachery to any you hear whisper of dissent," He commanded.

Voldemort turned and kneeled low next to the old man who was convulsing in pain. He whispered, "You wished to escape me. I will grant your wish. I will banish you to a place from which none has ever returned." Voldemort stood and stepped back a few steps away from the small group. He thrust out his wand and yelled "_Recesserimus a me!_"

A massive arc of violet energy burst forth from the Dark Lord's wand like a flash of lightning striking where the six figures lay. They were momentarily engulfed in dark flame and nothing remained, leaving only a dark circle burnt into the floor and rising wisps of acrid smoke.

Voldemort blasted the door from its hinges, and casually strode around the charred floorboards exiting the building. Snape rose quickly from his seat and followed. In their wake the few survivors scurried from the burning building and fled off in multiple directions.

The building erupted with fire behind them, massive plumes of billowing smoke rising in to the sky as the thatched roof disappeared in flames. Without turning to look, Voldemort pointed his wand at the swirling black and whispered "_Morsmordre_," the smoke formed itself into the dark mark.

* * *

Draco, waited as instructed, but it was not long before he saw a boy bound out of the main building followed by what looked like a monkey hot on his heels.

As the boy approached Draco became quite delighted to see that it was Chunt'ea. This was the first face he had seen in seven weeks, apart from the Shaman, that he recognized. Chunt'ea's monkey companion arrived just before him and clamored up Draco's leg and arm to perch neatly on his shoulder. Chunt'ea was laughing as he stepped close. Pémpé remembers you. He has asked me where you were. This made Draco laugh as well as he pulled at the monkey's tail which kept trying to curl around his neck.

"How long have you been here?" Draco asked, "I have not seen you. But then, I have really not seen anyone but the Shaman."

"I have been here for three weeks. I was going to go back for the next celebration, but now I have accepted an important task and I will be staying." Chunt'ea said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, speaking of tasks, I guess you are supposed to give me my next one?" Draco asked as he struggled to pull Pémpé down from atop his head.

"You are my task, and I am yours, Dracho," Chunt'ea said proudly, "I am to teach you my language, and many other things that you must know if you are to become a man among the people."

Draco smiled, "Oh, is that all," he chided happily, "well in that case, how do we begin?"

Draco had learned to speak French, German, and Spanish as a child, as his mother insisted it would help in international business when he was older. The last time he had used any of it was during his fourth year when students from _Beauxbatons_ and _Durmstrang_ had been at Hogwarts, but he imagined that learning another language would not be too difficult.

"We begin first, by getting you to clean up," Chunt'ea teased, pointing at the dirt on his feet and arms. "Here, this is for you." He handed Draco the familiar leather bag which he had been carrying. "Follow me." Chunt'ea turned and started up the path toward the main building.

Draco followed him as he opened the leather bag and looked inside it curiously. Rather than the usual sparse bits of food the bag contained what appeared to be a large cake of soap, and several other objects including a small mirror and a straight razor. Draco closed the bag smiling, and followed Chunt'ea past the main building and down another path. After a few minutes walk they emerged at the edge of a wide stream. There was a small waterfall that emptied in to a clear pool.

"This is where we come to bathe," Chunt'ea announced, "and it is about time you became familiar with it." Chunt'ea reached in to his own bag and drew out a cake of soap. He untied his loincloth and waded in to the pool. Immediately he began scrubbing at himself.

Draco looked down at his arms and legs and excitedly retrieved the soap from his bag, he waded in to the pool up to his waist and then removed his loincloth. It was as crusted with dirt as he was so he gave it a good scrubbing with the soap and wrung it out as best he could before wading to the stream edge and spreading it out across a warm flat stone. He returned to the deeper water and began scrubbing his torso.

It felt really good to finally be washing away all the dirt. After scrubbing himself for a short while he waded under the waterfall and began to wash his hair, getting it lathered up and rinsing it clean. He had barely been aware of how long it had gotten. He could feel it on his shoulders as he rinsed it. When he got to really scrubbing his face he was suddenly aware that there was more than whiskers there, in the nearly two months since he had arrived he had not shaved once, and it seemed he had the beginnings of a beard. Once he felt sufficiently clean we waded back to the shore and searched through his leather bag. Chunt'ea had finished his bath, but was playing some game with Pémpé and seemed in no rush to hurry him up.

Draco dumped out the bag and quickly found the mirror and straight razor. Upon closer inspection the razor was made of bone rather than metal, but appeared to be plenty sharp to do the job. Draco found a deep edge of the pool where he could prop up the mirror on some stones while still standing in waist deep water. Gazing at himself in the mirror he was impressed with the amount of beard that had grown. It was a bit spotty on his cheeks but he felt he had grown a respectable moustache. He lathered up his face and started scraping at his cheeks. He had only used a razor a few times, preferring to use grooming charms for this particular task, but he managed fairly well. On a whim he decided to leave his moustache and a goatee, as he felt it made him look a bit older, and he thought he could do with a change of appearance. When he was done he took a last dip in the pool and got himself well rinsed.

Draco immerged finally feeling wonderfully refreshed, he was happy to discover the sun and warm stone had nearly dried his loincloth, as he secured the lone garment in place. As a last touch he snipped a bit of the extra length from his waist tie with the razor and used the strip of leather to tie his hair back off his face. He examined himself in the mirror and was well pleased. This was not the Draco he remembered. The longer hair tied back, the goatee, and the darker skin made him look a different person all together, and this pleased him, as he felt like a different person. He could have done without the still visible faded yellow X across his face, but here it seemed to have no meaning, and it did seem to be fading away.

Returning the where he had dumped the bag Draco found that there was a knife and scabbard there along with the necklace he had been given on the night of celebration. Upon closer examination he found that a stone bead had been added that was in the shape of a fish, hanging from its tail. To his surprise the small stone that the Shaman had given him the night his mother died was also there having had a hole created on its narrow edge so that it could be strung as a bead. He quickly put this around his neck and tied the knife belt around his waist.

Chunt'ea asked if he was finished, and not waiting for the obvious answer got up from his spot and started toward the path back to the encampment. As they went Chunt'ea pointed out various plants and talked about their uses, some could be eaten, and others had medicinal uses. Draco did his best to commit this all to his memory as they walked. When they reached the main building Chunt'ea turned up the steps, but Draco hesitated.

Chunt'ea turned back to him. "It is alright Dracho, you will live in here with us now," he said.

Draco smiled and followed the boy up the steps. The main building was a large circular structure with rough wooden sides and a grass roof, once inside Draco realized that the center was open and that the whole structure was built around a center platform of natural rock. There seemed to be three separate rings of space. In the middle was a large central fire pit hewn from the rock itself. Surrounding this center area was a circle of space filled with tables, benches and what looked like various tools and utensils for doing everything from cooking to weaving. There was a lot of activity there at the moment as it appeared several men and boys were involved in preparing breakfast. The outer perimeter was divided in to four sections of living space. To the left as they entered was the area where the youngest boys lived, it was to this area that Chunt'ea brought Draco first. Here there were no walls just a series of posts that held numerous hammocks strung to the outer wall. There was a walkway between posts and a second inner ring of hammocks. Draco counted a full thirty hammocks in this section, many occupied at present by still sleeping boys. Chunt'ea brought him to the two last hammocks in the section and pointed at the one in the last space before a dividing wall.

"That one is yours," Chunt'ea said.

Draco sat into the hammock and swung his legs up stretching out. "Nice," he said. "This should be more comfortable than my grass mat."

Chunt'ea explained that in this section the youngest boys all lived together, those that were eleven to thirteen flood rains. In the next section beyond the dividing wall lived those boys who were fourteen, and in the third section those who were fifteen, and preparing for the rites of manhood. In the last section lived the men who were there as guides and teachers.

"You are an exception Dracho, you will live here in this section until the Shaman says you can move to the next. Usually we move only by age, but as you are already old enough to take the manhood rites, you will move according to how quickly you learn," Chunt'ea said. "You will be here with me only as long as you need to be."

"Dracho," Chunt'ea sounded suddenly serious, "it is part of my task to teach you our language. The charm which allows us to understand one another now will wear off sometime today and after that you will have to learn, it will require patience from both of us."

Draco nodded his understanding.

"I want you to learn quickly, you must keep your eyes and ears open and learn much from example. Everyone will help you."

Draco nodded again, smiling.

"Good," Chunt'ea said with a grin, "Now, shall we see about getting some breakfast?"

The smells of cooking food had been causing Draco's stomach to rumble since he had entered the building, so he readily agreed.

Chunt'ea wound his way through many of the hammocks rousing the sleeping boys, who seemed to wake eagerly. Draco followed him to the center of the building where fresh cooked food was laid out on large banana leaves. A line was beginning to form and Draco stepped in behind Chunt'ea. He helped himself to a flat wooden plate and in turn served himself the largest breakfast he had enjoyed in many weeks. He sat with Chunt'ea near the central fire pit and enjoyed his meal, asking many questions of the younger boy, with frequent interruptions and introductions. Everyone it seemed wanted to meet him, and everyone seemed very friendly and enthusiastic. Everywhere around him it seemed was constant laughter and conversation, and it seemed a huge amount of friendly teasing going back and forth between the groups of boys.

Finally, when the meal was done and he was returning his plate to a large woven basket he caught a glimpse of the Shaman sitting with the other men across the fire pit. The Shaman looked up at him and smiled. Draco smiled and nodded back.

_This is going to be an adventure, _Draco thought, his heart feeling light for the first time in... well, in a very long while.

Chunt'ea pulled at his arm, "Come Dracho, we have clean up duty." Chunt'ea reached for a handle on one side of the woven basket containing the used plates and utensils, and motioned for Draco to take the other. Together they carried the large basket out of the main building to an outside table that was set up with several large basins of water for doing the washing.

After digging holes and clearing fields, he could hardly squawk at scrubbing a few dishes. Especially when everyone involved seem to consider it more fun than work.

Yes... _This was going to be an adventure! _

* * *

**_Please review - Thanks!_**


	20. Mayhem, Mourning and Memories

Chapter Nineteen  
**Mayhem, Mourning and Memories**

Dudley Dursley leaned against the back wall of the kennel at his Aunt Marge's home and took a long drag from his second cigarette. He "shushed" the dogs that barked at his movements. Fortunately they knew him well enough to settle down, even as he remained where he was. He didn't much like being here. They were supposed to be leaving in the morning, but from the look of things he thought they would probably have to stay at least one more day.

His parents and Aunt Marge had eaten a huge, late evening meal, and now they were getting quite pissed on expensive brandy. Not that any of them could really tell the difference, but his father believed that if he had bought the most expensive bottle, it had to be the best. He looked at his watch; it was already a quarter past eleven.

The moon was nearly full and a heavy ground fog was rolling in. He pulled his new leather jacket a bit tighter. He had sat at dinner for as long as he could stand, listening to his father prattle on about how all of his investments had paid off in a grand windfall. It was a load of codswallop. Dudley knew he could be a bit thick at times but he was certain his father had never invested a penny in his life, and the money they had recently received could only have come from one source, Harry.

Dudley still couldn't figure why Harry had given them so much money just before he'd disappeared. His parents wouldn't talk about it. In fact his father had gone on and on about how pleasant it was to be rid of Harry once and for all. Dudley had been caught up in the excitement of the spending spree for most of the summer and it had not even occurred to him that Harry was gone until his father had announced that they had found a buyer for the house on Privet Drive.

He had asked his mother about it but she hadn't said much, instead trying to placate him with food. All he had been able to glean from her answers was that Harry had said it would be safer if they left Privet Drive before his birthday. Well, it was Harry's birthday and they had indeed left Privet Drive. Now they were here with his bint of an Aunt, waiting to move in to a new, much grander, house closer to London.

Dudley crushed out his second cigarette and lit a third. His parents would be furious if they caught him smoking, but he didn't care right now, and they would be too rat-arsed to notice.

The truth was, as hard as it was to admit, Dudley missed Harry and not just because he wasn't there to pick on. There was something else, something much deeper. He'd felt safer when Harry was around, and now that he had left, Dudley had been a bit of a wreck. It was the damn things he had started seeing. After Harry had saved him from, what had Harry called them? Demontaters, or something like that.

It had begun gradually, so gradually, in fact that for the first year he had never believed he had really seen anything, just very short wispy glimpses of what might have been ghosts, or fairies.

Then during the last school year he had actually seen a full fledged ghost. And, it had talked to him. Dudley had been frightened of it at first, but as it kept coming around he realized it was not out to hurt him in any way, just mostly eager for someone to talk to. It turned out that it was the ghost of a former teacher at Smeltings who had unfortunately died from cancer. The man had been quite all alone in life, and found himself remaining at the school.

Dudley had tried to tell a few people that he was seeing things, but realized quickly that it was getting him nowhere. As he didn't want to be carted off to the loony bin he had quickly shut up about it.

Not quickly enough however, to prevent becoming the butt of pranks and jokes and turning into a bit of a social outcast. Not even his success at boxing had gotten him back in to social prominence. Sometime during the year he had begun to wonder if this was what it was like for Harry, being constantly picked on and ridiculed. It hadn't been all bad though, as he began to see more things, fairies and other magical creatures, at least the ghost had been able to explain what he was seeing, and informed him that he was, what the Magical world referred to as a Squib. It hadn't hurt his marks any to have a teacher constantly looking over his shoulder, explaining things and really taking the time to make sure he understood.

Dudley had intended to talk to Harry this summer, explain what was happening to him and see if Harry could offer more information. There was a lot Dudley felt bad about that had gone between him and Harry over the years. He didn't intend to apologize or anything ridiculous like that, but he felt some regret that the opportunity had been missed.

He wondered where Harry was now and he hoped that it was a good place wherever it was. After all was said and done Harry was still his cousin and he had come to the point that Dudley wished him well. "Happy Birthday Harry," he said as he glanced up at the moon.

Dudley dropped his fag end and stepped it into the dirt, figuring it was time he should be getting back in. He didn't relish the idea of listening to more of his Aunt's going on about her stupid, ugly, Bulldogs, but he seriously doubted it could be avoided.

He was about to turn back to the house when he heard something, It sounded like voices; one female, though low and harsh, and the other a raspy, growling male voice. He couldn't make out what had been said but he turned and feeling suddenly frightened he flattened himself against the kennel wall peering into the fog in the direction he thought he heard the voices from.

In a moment he was able to make out two figures entering the back garden from the field beyond the property line. They were both cloaked and hooded. As he watched intently the larger figure seemed to be removing its cloak, handing it to the other. Then to Dudley's amazement and horror, the figure dropped to the ground on all fours and began to transform into something inhuman, something Dudley could only describe as... a werewolf. He gasped, and clasped his hand over his mouth, fairly certain that he could not be heard over the whining and growling coming from the massive creature. He inched his way toward the far end of the kennel as he heard the woman speak.

"They are all yours, Greyback," the woman said cackling.

The creature howled; which set the dogs to barking wildly.

"Do as you will" she shouted over the howling, "Now go!"

The creature bounded toward the house and as Dudley turned around the corner of the kennel he saw the thing crash through the back garden door and leap upon his screaming mother.

Dudley froze with fright, he wanted to go to her aid, but more, he wanted to run. He turned quickly, and there was the woman, standing right behind him. She said a word Dudley did not recognize and there was a flash from something in her hand. Dudley found himself writhing in pain on the ground.

She grabbed him roughly by the jacket collar and pulled him up, the piercing pain in his limbs made it impossible for him to resist her.

"You must be Dudley," she said to his horror, as she dragged him, staggering, toward the house.

He could hear screaming coming from inside, the sounds of crashing and breaking furniture and the sickening sounds of tearing fabric, and flesh.

They reached the back door and standing there Dudley could see blood splattered everywhere. The body of his Mother lay torn and broken in a bloody heap on the dining room floor. The dining table was split and splintered, bits of food and broken stoneware scattered everywhere.

Gasping hard he realized that he could see parts of his dismembered father in at least four places strewn through the dining room and in to the sitting room, where beyond the overturned sofa the snarling beast was biting into and tearing chunks of flesh from the bloody mass that could only be his Aunt Marge.

The woman laughed in a sadistic and completely terrifying way as she took in the scene before them.

The creature turned, flesh in its teeth, its muzzle dripping with blood, focusing its unearthly yellow eyes, cruel with blood lust as it snarled at him. For a moment Dudley thought it would spring at him and he felt a warm wetness trailing down his right leg, soaking into his sock and boot.

The woman released his jacket collar, leaving him paralyzed with fear in the doorway.

"Scared the piss out of this one, Greyback." She laughed.

The woman stepped casually through the carnage toward the sitting room, as the beast continued to eye Dudley with intense appetite. But, it did not charge.

The woman flashed her wand at the sitting room wall and all the many framed pictures and small shelves of dog trophies and little ceramic bulldogs went crashing to the floor.

In that moment, Dudley had the absurd thought that he had always hated the ghastly felted, striped, salmon colored wallpaper in his Aunt's house.

The woman bent down and dragged the tip of her wand through a large pool of blood and raising it sent streams splattering to the wall forming letters. It read _Many happy returns_, and was ended by some sort of symbol that looked like a skull with a snake slithering from it's mouth.

Dudley felt command of his legs and as the beast shifted its head away, Dudley turned and ran from the house. The woman screamed something after him and he burst into flames. Intense heat took him beyond pain as he fell to the damp ground.

The snarling beast leapt over him and crashed into the kennel, followed by the woman who stepped past him, laughing.

Dudley heard intense screaming ringing in his ears. The sound seemed far away, but he realized, in his final moment of clarity that the screams were his own.

Harry was beside himself. He paced furiously in front of the sitting room grate. He had not been able to sleep the entire night. Not being allowed to fight was weighing heavily on him. He was angry. He wanted to wade in to battle wand flashing and bring Tom Riddle to justice. He wanted to make it right!

He glanced over at Ginny who had finally succumbed to sleep on a sofa near the fireplace. And then to Ron and Hermione who were curled together asleep on a matching sofa. He wanted to keep them all safe. If that meant he had to stay out of the fighting, for now, so be it. He did not have to like it. He promised himself that one day; Riddle would face his righteous fury.

It was the quiet and the sense of helplessness that was infuriating him. He needed news. He needed to know what was happening.

Less than an hour after everyone had departed Jarvy had reactivated the _Portis Omnibus_ and through it had come Hagrid, carrying a wounded and bleeding Helena Burgestikoff, followed by a confused, but determined looking Poppy Pomfrey, and Fleur Delacour. They had not wasted time on explanations, Harry had the Elves Apparate them all to Helena's suite and then left the healer to do her work with instructions for Winky to provide whatever Madam Pomfrey needed from the stores at the Manor.

Hagrid had said only that there were still attacks going on and he needed to get back to Hogwarts to watch the gates. He bolted back through the open portal and was gone.

Molly Weasley had come through briefly with tight hugs for all of them and explained that there had been an attack at the Burrow. She said that the wards had held and The Burrow itself was fine, but something in her voice made Harry believe there had been casualties beyond Helena. She assured her two youngest children that the family was all alive and so far unharmed. She and Arthur were remaining at The Burrow to rebuild the wards and insure its safety, while their brothers and the members of the _Order_ along with a squad of Aurors had dispersed to other skirmish sites. That was all the news they'd been given.

Now it was early morning, the sun was beginning to rise and still there had been nothing else.

Fleur and Madam Pomfrey entered the room, both looking crisp and clean. It was Fleur's bearing and demeanor that told Harry that Helena's injuries had been severe. Madam Pomfrey assured them that Helena would make a full recovery.

Jarvy appeared and opened the _Portis Omnibus_, Fred, George, Bill and Charlie practically fell in to the room, their clothing was singed and covered in soot. They appeared to be unharmed and they were actually laughing.

"Cor, that Death-eater he'll not be sitting down again... for ever!" Fred said, laughing and slapping George on the back.

"Yeah, George," Bill chimed in, "Whatever made you think, in the middle of battle, with spells flying all around, to cast such a specific slashing spell on his arse?" he continued laughing.

"Dunno really," George replied, "I just kept thinking the lot were a bunch of arses, and that wanker's bum was such an easy target." He dropped heavily in to one of the nearby chairs.

Charlie had already found Madam Pomfrey with questions about Helena. They quickly left the room together.

Bill crossed the room to Fleur and pulled her in to a deep embrace. They seemed to be sharing some quiet words together when suddenly the two of them appeared to glow golden for an instant. It went unnoticed by the others as the twins were still laughing about the Death Eater's bum. Harry suspected he had just witnessed the moment of bonding between them, and he smiled at them both as they looked up with giddy expressions of wonder.

Not wanting to draw attention to them, as they seemed to suddenly be in their own little world, Harry turned to Fred and George, "so, what happened?" he asked.

Ron and Hermione, waking together on the couch, sat up and focused on the conversation. Ginny too, was rousing at the sound.

"Oh, after the skirmish at The Burrow, the Aurors said that one of the attacks was in Diagon Alley, so the four of us, and some Aurors apparated there to help out," George replied.

"The place was a right mess," Fred continued. There were a couple dozen Death-Eaters and they were smashing everything in sight, busting shop windows and setting fire to the buildings."

"There were a bunch of Aurors already there, and some of Scrimgeour's new Army recruits," George put in.

"We arrived just outside our shop, and found ourselves right on top of the Death Eaters," Fred continued. "George was brilliant! First thing he summons our supply of _Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder_ from inside the shop and dropped the whole lot right on top of the Death Eaters. They were firing blind and we were able to get them pinned down in a crossfire."

"The buggers were persistent though, they kept right on firing at the store fronts and set most of the west end of the Alley ablaze," George finished.

"Was anyone hurt?" Hermione asked.

"Nah, just a few scrapes and scratches and most of that was from fighting the fires after the Death Eaters were contained," Bill responded. "I think the Aurors captured nine or ten of them, the rest finally Disapparated away."

"Is the shop okay?" Ginny asked.

"Oh," Fred responded, "total loss unfortunately."

"But, when the fireworks went up it was truly spectacular," George said. They both laughed.

"Yeah, completely distracted the Death Eaters, and helped us put a quick end to the fighting," Fred said, leaning on the back of George's chair.

"What! You mean the shop was destroyed?" Ron asked, concerned.

"Completely," Fred and George responded again in unison, "including our flat, above."

"What will you do?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, I guess we'll bunk at The Burrow for a while. Mum and Dad won't mind," Fred said.

"That's not what she meant, and you know it," Ginny interjected, "What will you do about the shop?"

"Rebuild of course," the twins answered together.

"The shop has been doing really well, and we've got quite a bit of savings," George said.

"Plus, we can still do Owl orders," Fred continued, "We might even expand."

Harry was relieved that the twins were taking their loss so well, but he was still troubled by the attacks and upset that he had not been able to join the fighting. Ginny crossed to him and took his hand. He smiled wanly at her.

"What about the other attacks?" Harry asked.

Bill stepped forward. "We really don't know much yet, Harry," he said, "After the Death Eaters were gone we spent most of the night dealing with the fires. We do know that there was an attack in Hogsmeade, and on a couple of Muggle locations, but we won't know any details until Moody comes back."

Harry took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly. "Fine," he said, visibly upset. "Why don't you all get cleaned up, and maybe have a quick kip. I'll tell Jarvy to have breakfast for everyone a bit later." He looked at the twins. "You can use one of the guest rooms to clean up and I'll have Dobby see what he can do about your clothes."

"Brilliant, Harry. Thanks," George said, getting up from the chair he was sitting in.

Dobby appeared and bid the twins follow him. With a snap of his fingers the soot was banished from the chair where George had been sitting.

Ginny took Harry's other hand and looked up into his emerald eyes. "It's all going to be alright Harry," she said with deep concern. "You need to sleep a bit yourself, c'mon." She turned and pulled him toward the door. He followed still clearly upset by the night's events. "Hermione, could you send Dobby to wake us when we start getting actual news?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, as they left the room.

Ron turned to her looking a bit perturbed, "Ginny shouldn't be going to Harry's room with him." He frowned.

Hermione frowned back at him, "They were alone together all yesterday afternoon and you are worried about it now?" she said in a slightly scolding voice. "Quit being an overprotective brother for a minute and just be a friend."

Ron nodded, a little ashamed.

Hermione took his hand, "besides we could use a bit more sleep ourselves." She tugged at him and he followed. "We'll tell Dobby to wake us too."

Harry stirred at the sound of Dobby entering the room. He was obviously trying to be quiet but the soft click of the door was enough to alert Harry to his presence. He raised his head slightly and smiled at the elf.

"Master, Dobby is come to wake you as requested," Dobby whispered. "The Moody man has returned and Mistress's parents are asking after you two."

"Thank you Dobby, we will be down in a minute," Harry replied.

Dobby smiled, seeming to consider fondly the occupants of the bed, and turned quietly, leaving the room as he had come.

Harry found himself on the bed with Ginny, her arm draped over his chest, her right leg across his right thigh, her head tucked into his shoulder. He smiled thinking how easily he could get used to this. He wished that he had been able to get some sleep. He knew he would not be able to until he heard news of what had happened during the night. He shifted slightly wrapping his arm around Ginny's shoulder and pulling her tight.

"Ginny, time to get up," Harry whispered shaking her a little.

Ginny's eyes opened and focused drearily on Harry. "Already?" she hugged herself to him, "I don't wanna," she pouted.

"Okay," Harry said, enjoying the feel and smell of her next to him, "but you get to explain when your Mum and Dad burst in here looking for us." He chuckled.

Ginny sat up suddenly, looking around the room. "Damn, you're right. I'm up." After a second she seemed more awake. She leaned down and kissed Harry deeply. "We should really do this more often," She whispered.

"I don't disagree," Harry said, "I just wish it were possible."

Ginny gave him a bright and, he thought, rather sexy smile, as she climbed from the bed. Harry watched her appreciatively as he got up and straightened his clothes.

A few moments later they were meeting Hermione and a rather bleary looking Ron at the stairs. They had also obviously decided on a nap, and apparently together as well, as they were both coming from the direction of Hermione's room.

They made their way down to the sitting room where a number of people had gathered. It wasn't everyone from the party. Hagrid had not returned, neither had Wood, Tonks, or Shacklebolt. It was quite obvious that it had been a very long night for all of them.

Seeing them enter the room, Moody called the room to order.

"As we all know there were several Death Eater attacks last night," Moody growled. "The main attacks have been reported at, The Burrow, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and..." Moody paused, looking directly at Harry, "number four Privet Drive, in Surrey. All of these attacks were accompanied by the Dark Mark. I have spent much of the morning at the Ministry debriefing with the Aurors. We are awaiting any other information on associated attacks within Muggle communities, but no other Dark Marks have been reported."

"The Dursleys?" Harry asked rather emotionlessly.

"The house at Privet Drive was empty Harry," Moody assured him. "Your Aunt and Uncle had moved from the property," he paused, "the house was burned to the ground. The implanted cover for the Muggles is that there was an electrical fire caused by faulty wiring. The present welfare of your Aunt, Uncle and cousin is unknown. My agents indicated yesterday that they were leaving Privet Drive for an undisclosed location. Diggle and Cranbrooke, who are currently assigned to the Dursleys, have not checked in. This in itself is not unusual as watching the Dursleys is a rather..." he paused, "dull assignment," he paused again, waiting for Harry to nod his understanding. "Unfortunately there was one casualty associated with this attack. Miss Arabella Figg, a former member of the _Order_, was found dead in her home, victim of the _Avada Kadavra_. Most likely, she was tortured for information and, assuming that she had no information to give, she was killed simply because she was a Squib."

Harry moved to a couch and sat heavily. Ginny sat with him and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Moody continued, "The attack on Diagon Alley was thwarted by Aurors and members of the Ministry's Army, along with Bill, Charlie, Fred and George Weasley. I am pleased to report that we suffered no casualties in this attack, though there was significant property damage. The whole of the west end was destroyed by fire from the entrance to Knockturn Alley, right up to _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_. The fires were contained early this morning, and clean up is already under way. The Ministry has ten Death Eaters in custody from this altercation."

There was a brief applause and the Twins couldn't help but stand and bow.

"The attack in Hogsmeade was thwarted by Aurors, members of the Army, a few local residents, Alex, Kingsley, Remus, Tonks and me. Several stores were destroyed along the high street and there were a number of casualties. Two Aurors and eight young Army recruits were killed in the battle. I will have a list of the names of these brave men and women later today. To their credit and that of all the combatants no less than eighteen Death Eaters were killed, and a dozen more are now in custody with the Ministry."

There was no applause accompanying this report.

Moody continued, "Upon leaving here last night we entered into an altercation at The Burrow. The wards were still holding when we exited the house. There were at least two dozen Death Eaters attacking the wards. As we confronted them a group of ten Aurors arrived behind them. Clearly they did not anticipate so many would be present at The Burrow, and it was the strength of our numbers that ended the altercation quickly. Regrettably, Helena Burgestikoff was badly wounded in the battle, and I am personally saddened to report the death of Oliver Wood."

Harry sank deeper into the couch; Ginny could feel the anger building in him.

"Madam Pomfrey," Moody said, "Would you be kind enough to tell us Helena's condition?"

"Certainly, Mr. Moody," she stepped forward a little and cleared her throat. "Miss Burgestikoff was the victim of at least two slashing curses. The slashing damage was confined mostly to her front torso and left side. It would then appear that she turned to protect her injuries and took a blasting curse to her right side, which extensively damaged her right arm, shoulder and ribs. If not for Miss Delacour's quick actions, she would surely have died."

Charlie sobbed lightly, and was immediately comforted by Mrs. Weasley with a firm half hug, and by Alex with a hand on his shoulder.

"It was a very good decision to bring her here rather than returning to Hogwarts as was my instinct. Wherever here is, and I am not asking, it is apparently as well stocked with medicinals, potions and surgical equipment as any place I have ever visited short of St. Mungos," Madam Pomfrey, paused for a moment.

Harry caught Moody's eyes during the pause and he winked with his natural eye, nodding slightly.

"With the assistance of Miss Delacour, and a very efficient Elf, I was able to de-curse and knit her internal injuries. Her bones have all been reset with the exception of her right Humerus, Radius and Scapula, which were so extensively shattered that it was easier to banish them and repair the tissue damage. She was given a blood replenisher potion as well as a number of potions for pain, healing and sleep. Right now she is in an induced sleep that should last at least seventy-two hours, at which time I shall return and commence treatment to re-grow her missing bones. If all goes accordingly she should be completely healed in four or five days."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Moody said sincerely, "your services to the _Order_ have been, as always, exemplary."

Madam Pomfrey, bowed lightly, and stepped back.

"That is everything we know at present about the events of the night," Moody continued. "There were also a few incidents of magic use in Muggle areas, but as no indication of the Dark mark was present, these were made low priority and are being investigated as we speak. Such events are not unusual and may be unassociated with the Death Eater attacks. The Minister has promised a full report as soon as the Aurors have finished their investigations. I will provide information on any services for Mr. Wood, and Miss Figg, once the next of kin have been contacted. Thank you everyone for all your efforts. While we mourn our losses, I would ask you to remember that all things considered these skirmishes should be regarded as a victory for the Ministry and the _Order_."

There was a short round of half-hearted applause.

"For now, I suggest that we avail ourselves of the hospitality and safety provided here at the Manor, and then retire to our individual homes to catch up on much needed rest. Thank you everyone," Moody finished.

The subdued group moved a bit slowly, but eventually gathered around the provided breakfast buffet.

The mood of the room seemed to lighten a little as people formed small groups at the tables. Harry picked at his food, still trying to manage his building anger.

A few minutes later Shacklebolt and Tonks entered the room. Tonks went to Lupin and began speaking with him in a whisper, as Kingsley went directly to Moody and handed him what looked like a Muggle newspaper and a sheaf of parchment. Moody examined the parchment and then opened the paper, looking at it with an unreadable expression. He immediately approached the table where Harry, Ginny, Hermione and most of the Weasleys were seated. Lupin and Tonks approached as well.

"Miss Granger," Moody addressed Hermione. At the sound of her name she paled. "We have received word that one of the Muggle sites where magic was used was in Brentwood, outside of London."

Hermione heart leaped in to her throat at Moody's words.

"It appears that your parent's home was targeted. The house was turned over but there is no indication of a fight of any sort. Your parents have not been located. Have you any Muggle means of contacting them?"

Hermione seemed frozen with fear for a moment, but it passed quickly and she burst into action opening her small handbag and digging through it frantically. She pulled out a small rectangular bit of something, obviously Muggle made with numbers on it. "Yes," she said, a bit too loudly, "my mobile!" she was tapping at the numbers, and pressed the thing to her ear. "Damn!" she said, "no signal!" She looked slightly panicked.

"It must be the wards," Ron put in. "let's go to the Burrow where we can get outside of them quickly. He was already standing and offering his hand to Hermione. Hermione looked at her boyfriend in amazement; she took his hand and they left at a run.

"Fred, George," Arthur Weasley said suddenly, "please go with them for safety."

The Twins did as their father asked without hesitation.

"Harry," Moody turned to him. "The other attack was at a country cottage outside Shrewsbury." Harry gave no indication of understanding. "It was your Aunt Marge's home."

Harry suddenly understood, inhaling deeply. "The Dursleys," he asked, "are they dead?"

"I am sorry, lad," Moody said, as he set the paper down in front of Harry. "I am afraid the Muggle authorities beat us to the site."

Harry looked at the large front page photograph of the Shrewsbury Gazette, under the bold banner which read, "MURDER IN QUIET COUNTRY COTTAGE." The picture was of the wall of his Aunt Marge's sitting room and the bloody message left there. "Many happy returns," Harry read out loud as he noticed the dark mark following the scrawled words.

Ginny gasped next to him, also seeing the eerily unmoving Muggle photograph.

Harry began scanning the article.

"The Ministry has dispatched a team to deal with the matter. We recovered the bodies of Diggle and Cranbrooke, but, the Dursleys... well, it complicates things when the Muggle authorities have already gotten involved," Kingsley said.

Harry stood up, "Well it serves them right I suppose," he said angrily. No one believed that he actually felt that way.

Molly Weasley got up from her chair and pulled Harry in to a hug, as tears began to run down his face. Ginny stood and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I didn't want them dead," Harry said unable to control his quiet sobs.

"I know, dear," Molly soothed, stroking his back.

"It's not them," he said, "it's everything; my parents, Sirius, Riddle has taken them all and left me alone in the world."

Molly held Harry by the shoulders at arms length and with tear filled eyes said; sternly, "Now you listen to me young man. You are not alone in this world. We are your family, and I don't want to ever hear you say such a thing again."

Harry's tear filled eyes widened and he nodded slightly. Mrs. Weasley pulled him back into a hug.

After a minute Harry pulled himself from Molly's grip and practically collapsed against Ginny. She supported him as he sobbed against her shoulder.

"I am so sorry Harry," Ginny whispered in his ear.

"Take me out of here, please," Harry whispered back.

Supporting Harry, Ginny lead him toward the door. Madam Pomfrey followed, but Moody asked everyone else to remain in their places.

Ginny, and Madam Pomfrey, lead Harry to his room where Dobby was waiting. They brought him to his bed where Ginny began to undress him and tucked him in bed. Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow as she observed Ginny, but said nothing. She gave some instruction to Dobby who popped away, and returned a moment later with a vial of potion.

"This is a draft of dreamless sleep, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said in her direct, no-nonsense manner, "I want you to take it now and get some sleep."

Harry nodded and took the vial, draining the liquid without complaint. He laid his head on his pillow and was instantly, deeply asleep.

Ginny's instinct was to crawl in with him, but she knew she couldn't do so with her parents in the house and Madam Pomfrey standing there. She bent down and kissed his forehead, whispering, "you will never be alone, my love."

"He will sleep now," Madam Pomfrey said. "It's best we leave him, his Elf will remain and watch over him."

"Do not worry Mistress," Dobby said addressing Ginny, "Dobby will watch over Master Harry, Dobby will always protect Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Dobby," Ginny said kneeling to address the faithful Elf, "Harry is very lucky to have you."

Dobby blushed furiously at the complement and turned to take a seat in a nearby chair.

Madam Pomfrey again with her eyebrow raised, placed her hand gently on Ginny's shoulder and turned her to leave the room. As they crossed the attached sitting room toward the hall she said, "It appears that Mr. Potter has had an eventful summer. It is obvious that this house and the three Elves I have met here belong to him."

Ginny nodded in response.

"I have noticed that the Elves refer to you as Mistress, Miss Weasley. Do you know why that is?"

"I thought it was because I am Harry's girlfriend," Ginny said uncertainly.

"That alone would not be enough for the Elves to address you so, my dear." She took Ginny's hand, chuckling slightly as Ginny looked up at her with wide eyes. "I think perhaps we should have a talk, you and I. Is there a quiet place we can sit comfortably?"

Ginny smiled and lead the kindly matron toward a comfortable seating area on the third floor landing opposite the main stairs. As they climbed the stairs Madam Pomfrey spoke again. "I think perhaps I should have a talk with Miss Granger as well before I return to Hogwarts."

Ginny smiled, and nodded.

The remaining members of the order gathered around a single table in the sitting room. The night had taken its toll and they all looked quite worn.

"We were very lucky, weren't we?" Arthur Weasley addressed the table at large.

"We could have been better prepared," Moody replied, "we need greater communication between the _Order_ and the Aurors. The Ministry's new Army is still in its infancy and a bit of an unknown. I will speak with Scrimgeour about better coordination. All-in-all, I was pleased with our response time and our success."

"Will attacks be more frequent now?" asked Molly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at Moody for a moment and receiving a nod spoke in answer. "We think that these attacks were mostly about Harry. The events in the Alley, The Burrow and at Hogsmeade, served no real strategic purpose, other than to show that the Dark Lord's forces could reach such sites within England. They were a distraction and intended to spread fear. Still, they were very costly to he who shall not be named, given the numbers of Death Eaters we captured. We think the real goal was the attack on Harry's family. Sadly, we did not think that the Dark Lord would bother with Harry's Muggle relations, and we have to accept that our own attitudes perhaps are to blame for an insufficient effort to protect them. I personally will offer my apologies to Harry for this. Given what is happening in Eastern Europe, we think these attacks were in response to Harry's birthday and do not believe that they mark a true attack on Wizarding England, just yet."

"Poor Harry," Molly said, "He has experienced so much loss."

"Yes, he has," Moody growled, "And he is sure to experience more before this war is at an end. We must do our best to minimize further losses directly associated with him, but we are hampered somewhat by the fact that he was given a mission by Dumbledore before his death, a mission Harry will not reveal to us. All we can do is focus on the larger campaign and help however we can to ensure Harry's success."

"Oh, that Dumbledore," Molly exclaimed with frustration, "Why did he have to leave us all in such ignorance and focus so much on Harry? Harry is still so young, it's just not fair. If Albus was still with us, I'd give him a piece of my mind!"

The sound of a familiar voice clearing its throat cut through the room.

"Of that, I have no doubt Molly," came the voice from the Chocolate Frog Card, still in the base on the mantle. "And I would listen patiently, but it would not alter the fact that Harry remains central to this entire conflict."

In stunned silence everyone was looking around the room to locate the source of the voice.

"Albus?" Moody asked out loud.

"Yes, old friend, over here on the mantle," Dumbledore replied.

Lupin crossed to the mantle and retrieved the base and card, bringing it to the center of the table.

"Albus Dumbledore? How is dis possible?" Alex asked, as Lupin set the base down.

"Ah, Madam Burgestikoff, your reputation is well known to me, I am pleased to have you among us." Dumbledore replied. "In answer to your question, it was a surprisingly simple bit of magic," Dumbledore paused. "In anticipation of my impending death from a curse, I imbued this vessel with the contents of my mind. A copy, if you will. I then prepared it to temporarily receive my soul upon the passing of my physical body. I am surprised and delighted that it worked, as I felt that I had not yet given Harry all the information I have to give."

"Such a thing has only been accomplished through dark Magic!" Alex exclaimed.

The Dumbledore card chuckled, "Yes, well, it is certainly unprecedented, but I do not believe it is dark magic. I have no desire to cheat death, or alter the natural order, I simply wished a bit more time to properly fulfill what I feel is an obligation to Harry, and all of the Wizarding world. Eventually, if not interrupted, this magic will desperse allowing my soul to continue its final journey, I wanted only more time with Harry, time to help him prepare."

"You do seem vell intentioned, but I am skeptical that such a thing could be accomplished vithout the dark arts." Alex responded.

"Alex," Moody interrupted, "You have not known Albus as we have. I am inclined to believe him in this, and I detect no darkness here."

"I trust you Alastor, but this still goes against my understanding." Alex replied.

"As a teacher," Dumbledore added, "I welcome your skepticism, and find it refreshing. I encourage any examination you might wish to apply to the matter."

Alex nodded.

The room was contemplatively silent as Hermione, Ron and the twins returned. Hermione looked quite relieved as she announced that her parents were alright, and she had successfully contacted her mother. "As it turns out, they had gone to spend a few days with family friends, Ian and Barbara Chesterton. They have agreed to remain there for now, and I told them I would contact them again soon," Hermione said.

Hermione was clearly not finished, but Ron cut her off. He was pointing at the card and base at the center of the table. "That's Harry's, why is it off the mantle?" Ron demanded.

"It is quite all right Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, "please join us, and let's all have a nice chat shall we?"

Harry was walking around the Quidditch pitch glad of the quiet and the solitude. The last couple of days had gone by in a blur and he was still feeling rather lost. He couldn't believe that the deaths of the Dursleys had affected him so deeply. It wasn't so much that they were killed, as the whole situation; all of the death that had surrounded him his whole life, all because of a stupid prophecy.

When he had woken from the induced sleep a few days before it was as if all his anger had left him and he just felt sad. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had all tried to talk to him, but nothing seemed to help. The Manor had gotten very busy with the arrival of Fleur's family, but Harry had for the most part been avoiding everyone. He hadn't been doing his morning meditations with Dumbledore, and he hadn't looked at the memories his Grandfather had left him. He had just been walking around the grounds like a ghost.

He knew people were worried about him, but it was as if he didn't have the energy to care. He was glad in a way that everyone was so busy with wedding preparations and looking after Helena.

Ginny had been tasked by her mother to help keep Gabrielle and her cousins busy until the wedding so even though Harry knew she was worried about him, she had not had much time to spend with him. He was okay with that as he was aware that his mood was sullen and he had not been very good company for anyone in the past few days. He needed to find a way to get past his current mood.

As he rounded the far end of the pitch he heard what sounded like the popping burst of a blasting curse on the other side of a thick hedgerow. His mind seemed to suddenly clear a bit and he drew his wand as he walked to the edge of the row.

To his mild surprise he found Alex Burgestikoff there, casting offensive spells at a number of hay bale targets. She lowered her wand upon seeing him. "Ah, hello Mr. Potter, it is good to see you out enjoying the day."

Harry stepped closer, "please," he said, "call me Harry." He moved behind her to better see the targets she was firing at. There were four stacks of hay bales at a distance of about ten meters.

"It is adwisable to get in a little practice vhen you can. Besides, it is alvays fun to blow thing up," Alex said, "I hope I vas not disturbing your valk, Harry."

"No, not at all," Harry responded, still eyeing the targets.

"Vould you like to give it a try?" Alex took a few steps back allowing Harry a clear field of vision.

Harry raised his wand and carefully aimed at the first target, "_Confringo_" he yelled, there was a slight trail of red light and the bottom right side of the stacked bails blew apart spectacularly.

"Very good, Harry, again." Alex urged.

Harry eyed the next target and repeated "_Confringo_." This time the upper left corner of the target blew apart in a hail of dust and flashing straw.

"It feels good, does it not?" Alex asked.

"Yes it does," Harry replied. He shouted twice more in rapid succession, his first spell just missing the third bale, and the last striking squarely and sending the final bale apart in all directions. Harry turned his wand in his hand, working his grip. It did feel good, perhaps it was just what he had needed.

Alex was applauding quietly next to him. "You have a lot of power in your casting for one so young, Harry," she praised him. "If it is not too presumptuous of me, I vould enjoy vorking with you, so that you can do it like dis." She stepped forward and extended her wand arm almost casually. Without a word there were three bursts of wand fire in rapid succession. Harry watched as the trails of light seemed to spiral and curve in the air, each striking the remaining bales squarely, blasting them apart completely.

It was Harry's turn to applaud. "That is marvelous!" Harry exclaimed, "could you teach me to do that?"

"Of course," Alex smiled, genuinely pleased. "Ve must talk about aim, Harry," she said, "casting a spell is magic. It is not like shooting an arrow, or firing a Muggle gun. You do not need to aim your vand and send your spell in a straight line. Your vand is an extension of yourself. It is your concentration and intent that will find your target, not your aim."

Harry puzzled over this for a moment. No one had ever said anything like this to him in all his years at Hogwarts. Going by example, he had always tried to aim his spells by visually aligning his wand to whatever he was casting at. But, Alex's statement made sense to him. He nodded.

Dobby trotted out from a nearby hedgerow and snapping his fingers restored the bale targets and smiling broadly at Harry, trotted back to cover. Harry laughed, as he realized that the little Elf was wearing a WWI doughboy helmet.

"Now," Alex said, refocusing Harry and gesturing toward the fresh bales, "dis time, do not vorry about vhere your vand is pointing so much. Instead, focus on the targets you vish to strike."

Harry, turned and raised his wand, he shouted four rapid spells. Despite himself he noticed that he was still moving his arm, pointing at each target. The spells each struck their intended bale, but none was a square hit.

Dobby quickly ran out again to restore the bales.

"Very good, Harry," Alex said, "I am impressed. It takes time to change habits."

Harry smiled. He took his stance again to give it a second go.

Alex interrupted, "vhy don't ve try something to help you focus your mind. Concentrate on the first target, Harry. Fix it in your mind." She gave him a moment before reaching up and gently tapping his glasses with her wand. The lenses turned opaque.

"But, now I can't see the target at all," Harry protested.

"You do not need to see it. You already know vhere it is. Now, vhen you are ready, picture the target and cast your spell."

Harry imagined the target before him. He concentrated on its center. He raised his arm and cast the spell. Immediately he could hear the sound of the blast and he knew that he had hit something. Alex applauded. She tapped his glasses again, allowing him to see that he had obliterated the target.

"Vonderful Harry," Alex praised, "you are a natural."

They continued to practice for about an hour, by which time Harry found that he was consistently hitting the targets. Alex, he thought, was a wonderful teacher, giving him easy to understand instruction, constructive criticism, and genuine praise.

As they walked back to the house, Harry realized that he felt quite himself again, the practice had helped him focus on something else and he was not feeling lost or sad anymore.

"Thank you. Mrs. Burgestikoff," he said genuinely.

"Not at all, Harry, I quite enjoyed vorking with you," Alex replied, her smile brightening, "but please, call me Alex."

"I mean, thank you, for more than just the practice," Harry said.

Alex nodded knowingly.

"So, Alex, would you be willing to teach me more?" he asked.

"Of course, Harry, I vould like that very much," she said, "Vhat things would you like to vork on?" Harry could see that her mind was already forming an instruction strategy.

"I would like to learn more offensive spells, fighting techniques, and to cast silently."

Alex nodded, "Dese are all things I think I could help you vith, yes. Vhy don't we set a regular time each day, and you can inwite, Ron, Hermione and Ginny to join us. Ve vill make it a regular class," she smiled.

"That sounds wonderful!" Harry exclaimed, "I'll go ask them right away." They reached the door and Harry started off toward the Library.

He turned, "Alex," he paused, "thanks again."

Alex nodded with a smile.

Later that evening, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and the twins came for dinner and they all enjoyed a wonderful meal in the main dining room. Harry, had instructed Jarvy to approach Fleur about meal menus during her family's visit. At the time it was really because he did not want to be bothered with it, but he recalled now, how during his fourth year, many of the Beauxbaton students had complained about the food at Hogwarts.

Fleur had been completely and pleasantly surprised that whatever she asked Jarvy to prepare he produced without the slightest hint of confusion or apparent extra effort. On this particular occasion they had enjoyed _Blanquette de veau_ followed by a dessert of _Tarte Tatin_. Harry was very pleased, not only with the French food, but also that Monsieur Delacour, proclaimed it the finest example of the dishes he had ever eaten.

Everyone was in very high spirits as they retired to the sitting room after dinner. It had been a good day all around. Harry was himself again after target practice with Alex. He was especially pleased that they would be practicing again in the morning. He had asked Ginny, Ron and Hermione to join them and they had all responded enthusiastically. As he looked around the room he decided that he might invite Fleur's sister Gabrielle, and their cousins to join them as well.

Fleur had spent the day with her parents, shopping and going for a dress fitting.

Helena had woken up and Madam Pomfrey had returned to examine her and administer the treatment to re-grow her bones. Harry knew from experience that she was in for a restless and painful night, but she was expected to be up and around in the morning.

Hermione, who had been spending all her time in the Library, had found some interesting information on treatments using variations on the Wolfsbane potion and after showing her research to Lupin and Madam Pomfrey they had devised a new treatment for Bill that was showing wonderful progress in healing his scars.

Lupin, who often seemed a bit lost while Tonks was at work, had also discovered the Library and was embroiled in some researches of his own.

Ginny, had spent her time showing Gabrielle and her cousins around the Burrow, and the Manor, they had even ventured in to Ottery St. Catchpole. As Harry's shipment had arrived from _QQS_, she had promised to show them the Quidditch pitch in the morning, and let them each have a go with a professional quality Quidditch broom.

Ron, the twins, Bill and Charlie, had spent most of the last few days at Diagon Alley sorting through the rubble of the Twin's shop. They had been pleased to recover far more than they originally thought they could. With the clean up nearly finished, the Twins were busy planning the rebuilding.

Of course, on top of everything else, wedding planning had moved in to high gear and there were lots of things that had to be done before the wedding could take place in just a week's time.

Harry had a wedding project he had to see to with the twins, but it was on track and there was no need to rush the Twins now that they were excited about rebuilding the shop.

With everyone relaxed after a good meal the room settled in to comfortable conversations. The younger adults were all gathered in one seating area with Alex, Tonks and Lupin, while Molly and Arthur were getting to know the Delacours.

The Delacours had arrived late in the day on August first, international travel having been delayed by the events of that night. Their party consisted of Fleur's parents and younger sister Gabrielle, her Aunt, Uncle and their four children, JeanBaptiste, Jacquelyne, Josephina and Jerard.

Ron and Hermione had engaged the younger guests in a spirited game of _Exploding Snap_ to pass the evening. Hermione was not normally one to play, but she was rather keen to practice her French with the guests. Ginny was hovering around the card game at the crowded table. Harry waited until she glanced up and he raised his eyebrow. She smiled knowingly in return.

Harry wandered over to Lupin and told him that he had some things he wanted to review in his Grandfather's study, so no one should worry if they noticed his absence. Lupin, thanked him for letting them know. Harry slipped out of the room and headed down the hall toward the Library.

He arrived at the study a little surprised that Ginny had not yet caught him up, but he unlocked the door and entered the comfortable room. He waited a step beyond the closed door and began counting down from ten. He got to six before there was a knock at the door. He turned, opened the door and pulled Ginny in to the room, greeting her with a hug and kiss.

"Did you sneak away, just so that we could have a snog, Mr. Potter?" Ginny teased.

"No, sorry," Harry replied, "I actually have something else in mind, but I don't mind a bit of a snog now that you mention it." Harry pushed the door shut and it clicked locked. He continued kissing Ginny for a few minutes. "I am sorry I have been out of sorts the last few days," he said finally.

"Harry, you don't have to apologize," Ginny said smiling, "everyone understands." She kissed him again hugging him close. "Now, as much as I would be content to snog you silly for the rest of the evening. If that is what you intended we would not be in your study. So, what did we really come here for?" Ginny released him, stealing one final quick kiss.

"I wanted to look at some memories," Harry confessed. He turned and went to the desk, unlocking the drawer and retrieving the small lock box.

"Do you want to do that alone, Harry?" Ginny asked concernedly. "They could be rather private."

Harry looked at her with a slightly confused expression, as though he was about to state the obvious. "No, Ginny, I want you to see them too." He said matter-of-factly, "there can be nothing here too private to share with you."

Ginny beamed.

"Have you ever used a pensieve?" Harry asked.

"No, never," Ginny said hesitantly.

"Well, it is very easy," Harry smiled. He began setting the vials out from the lock box lining them up on the desk. He pointed to a wide drawer below the bookcase behind Ginny. "I am guessing that my Grandfather kept one in there. Would you mind?"

Ginny turned to the drawer and slid it open, inside was a wide stone basin with runes carved all around the base. Ginny thought that it resembled a mirrored bird bath. Next to it in the drawer was a wax sealed jar filled with crystal clear liquid. She could see her reflection in the polished surface. "This looks like it, Harry." She reached in and pulled it out, it was quite heavy, but not unmanageably so.

As she turned, Harry flicked his wand and said "_Wingardium Leviosa_" levitating the pensieve from her grasp over to the desk. She retrieved the jar and carried it across the room.

After opening the jar and adding the liquid to the basin, Harry sat in the desk chair and looked at the line of vials. He carefully read each of the tags. "I think these are a set of memories from each of my ancestors for six generations," he said, "the names are all Potters, and the last two are my parents." Harry showed Ginny the last two vials. The first tag read 'James Potter, April 1978 - Destiny.' and the second, 'Lily Evans-Potter, June 1978 -Wedding.'

"Do you suppose your Grandfather kept a family tree somewhere?" Ginny asked.

"I would think he did, and I'll bet it is somewhere in this room," Harry agreed. They began rummaging through drawers and looking around the room. "Hang on," Harry said after a minute, "let me try," he flicked his wand, "_Accio_, family tree." At once there was a soft knocking in a low drawer across the room. Ginny went to it and slipped the drawer open. A scroll popped up from the drawer and floated across the room to Harry.

Harry unrolled the parchment scroll and laid it out across one end of the desk. The parchment was elaborately illustrated with a beautiful tree. At the base of the trunk were the names, Caractacus Potter (856 - 1170) and Armes Weasley-Potter (1048 -1171). Moving up the trunk were the names of the rest of Harry's family. Each name corresponded to a tag on one of the memory vials. Harry unrolled the top of the scroll to reveal an end to the illustrated tree where the names of his parents should have been listed.

"This scroll must have been locked away here in the Manor before my father was born," Harry said.

Ginny nodded agreement. "Your Grandparents must have kept this lock box with them until later in order to include memories from your parents," Ginny concluded.

It was Harry's turn to nod agreement.

Harry pulled open the center desk drawer and began searching through it. He pulled out an inkwell and quill. Carefully flattening the scroll he dipped the quill in the ink and very carefully began adding his parent's names to the family tree. As he did so the illustrated tree began to grow further up the scroll around them. A space grew up further where Harry added his own name. He was monetarily tempted to just write in Ginny's name in the space that appeared next to his, but thinking that was a bit premature, he ignored the impulse.

"Well, that's one mystery solved," Harry said, smiling at his handiwork. "Now the question is do I start with the earliest memory and work forward, or start with the most recent and move back?"

Ginny smiled and leaned forward giving Harry a quick kiss. "Why don't you start at the beginning," she said. She picked up the first vial marked 'Caractacus Potter, c. 900 - Potter curse' and handed it to Harry.

Harry read the tag with a bit of apprehension, but then removed the wax sealed stopper and holding it over the pensieve poured the contents out. The heavy memory seemed to settle into the bottom of the basin. Harry stirred the surface with his wand as he had seen Dumbledore do in the past. The memory swirled and clouded across the pensieve surface.

"Ready?" Harry asked Ginny.

"What do we do?" Ginny said with a hint of excitement.

"In the past I have always leaned my face to the surface, but I don't think that is strictly necessary. Dumbledore always just dipped a hand in," Harry said as he leaned forward and took Ginny's hand in his.

Together they reached their free hands to the surface and at once their perceptions swirled as they were drawn in to the memory.

* * *

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NEXT

Chapter Twenty  
**The Potter Curse**


	21. The Potter Curse

Chapter Twenty  
**The Potter Curse**

Harry and Ginny tumbled through nothingness landing finally on a stone floor. As figures and furniture swirled into existence around them they found themselves in a large open hall filled with many people. It seemed to be an extremely rustic tavern constructed of heavy wooden timbers with an open beamed, thatched roof. There were lines of heavy tables filled with rather rough looking men, and women, dressed in heavy woven robes adorned with furs. There was an atmosphere of celebration as large trays of food were being brought out from a kitchen and set at tables around the room. Toward the front of the hall the frivolity increased as people were dancing happily to lively music. It took them a moment to adjust to the idea that this memory was a step back in time somewhere around a thousand years.

They were standing behind a tall, heavily muscled man, who was seated at the head of the central table, eating a shank of mutton between large draws from a huge tankard of strong smelling mead. He was talking animatedly with the others at the table, particularly a burly red headed man to his right.

"Harry," Ginny squeezed Harry's hand tighter as if to assure herself that he was still there. "It's all so real."

"Memories feel very real when you are inside them," Harry assured her, "but no one will see or hear us." As if to illustrate his point a lovely ginger haired woman came along the back of the tables carrying a large tray of food and walked right through them. Ginny giggled.

Harry moved a step closer to listen to the two men.

"Pray, what would old Hengist of Woodcroft say if he knew you'd been off slaying a dragon at the very Muggle settlement he was fleeing when he founded our quaint little Hogsmeade village, Caractacus?" asked the red head.

"He would no doubt try to curse me, but then he was always a bit dim when it came to getting along with people, even Wizards. And ye know full well if I hadn't gone to slay the dragon there, it would have turned up here sooner or later, or worse at the castle, and then what would have happened to all our years of labor?" The black haired man responded.

The red haired man laughed boisterously. "Always a thinkin' man Caractacus," he said. He reached in front of the platter of mutton and picked up a small triangular left side breast plate of metal armor. It was fitted with leather straps and elaborately worked with a raised heart motif. "And what do you plan to do with this muggle trinket, then?" he asked.

"I'll keep it of course," Caractacus responded, "'twas a gift from the Muggles, given in gratitude." He took the breast plate from the other man and set it back down on the table.

"Sometimes you are the most sentimental of fools Caractacus," the red head laughed again, "'tis naught but a Muggle bit of worked iron and too small for you as well."

"Tis a symbolic gift, Roald," Caractacus said, "given by a grateful people, they called it the hero's heart, and they meant that hero to be me. No honorable man treats such a gift with disrespect, even a Muggle gift."

That brought a broad smile to the red haired man, who then tore in to a shank of mutton with gusto.

Ginny giggled again, thinking that the man, Roald reminded her of her brother Ron as he devoured his food.

A moment later a woman approached the table carrying a platter of meat and sausage pies. She was quite beautiful, Harry thought, though a bit sturdy for his taste, but her long red hair, braided down her back was quite striking and her eyes, could have come directly from Ginny. Or perhaps it was the other way round he thought momentarily. She leaned between the two men to set the platter down in front of them.

As she was straightening back up, Caractacus pushed his chair back and pulled the woman down in to his lap. She protested playfully, making it obvious that there was a comfortable familiarity between them.

"Ah, Beathas my beauty," Caractacus teased, "when are you goin' to leave that no good husband of yours and realize 'tis I who truly loves thee?"

The woman grabbed the end of his thick beard and gave it a hard, but playful yank. "When are you going to realize that you could have any eligible woman in this whole village and quit flirtin' with your best friend's wife?" She pushed herself up from his lap. Harry and Ginny both realized that she was quite obviously pregnant, as she smoothly moved from Caractacus' playful embrace to Roald's waiting arms. She settled comfortably into the big man's lap and gave him a demonstrative kiss.

Caractacus smiled genuinely at them.

"She's right you know." Roald said, "If you took yourself a wife it might do you a world of good." Roald caressed his wife's belly with obvious pride and affection.

"Oh, you know I will never settle for a wife any less special than your Beathas," he smiled at the couple, "And where am I ever goin' to find such woman?" he chided.

"Well, I do have a few sisters, or if ye can wait, Caractacus," Beathas teased, "We'll just have to start having daughters 'til you find one that you like." She winked at Caractacus and pushed herself from her husband's arms smiling, "Now, I have to get back to the kitchen."

She practically danced away as Roald leaned in toward Caractacus and said. "Don't get your hopes up boyo, this first one's goin' to be a boy." The two of them laughed heartily.

Just then the large doors at the front of the building flung open and the room fell silent, the dancers parting to make a path.

A large imposing man walked in to the hall. He was dressed in a burgundy and gold traveling cloak. As he stepped forward he pulled away his hood revealing penetrating green eyes and a thick mane of dark red hair, streaked with hints of gray.

"Lord Gryffindor," Caractacus stood hastily, "to what do we owe the honor of this visit?" he asked.

The larger man shot Caractacus a look of displeasure. "Do not call me Lord, Caractacus," he said hastily, "You know I do not hold with such titles," his eyes shined with momentary mischief, "or would you prefer I call you, Lord Caractacus, knight of King Alfred's court, defender of the crown, defeater of Danes and Dragon slayer?"

There was a moment of silence as the two men seemed to lock gazes across the long table. Suddenly both men burst in to laughter. "You have me there," Caractacus conceded, "Professor then. To what do we owe the pleasure? Come to join us for a meal?"

Gryffindor's smile faded. "I wish my mission were of so friendly concern. I must needs speak with you, privately." he responded.

"Of course," Caractacus gestured to a side door.

Roald made to stand but Caractacus waved him stay with an open hand.

As the two men crossed the room, Harry and Ginny followed, slipping through the door just behind them. Beyond the door was a long hallway, the two men stepped in to yet another room which, upon entering appeared to be a private dining room. There was a single heavy wooden table and chairs, the walls were adorned with the trophy heads of several hunts.

Godric Gryffindor removed his heavy cloak and laid it on the back of a chair. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast a silencing charm upon the room "I will get right to the point my friend," he said turning to face Caractacus. "When did you last see Salazar?" the question hung in the air almost as though it were laced with accusation.

"It has been at least eight days," Caractacus answered, "What is your concern?"

"Rowena, Helga, and I have asked him to leave the castle." Godric spoke, his voice conveying a hint of sadness, "We have all been great companions these past fifty years through the founding of the school and the construction of Hogwarts. But he insists on professing these philosophies of blood status and Wizard superiority with which we do not hold. And, we suspect he has been dabbling in the Dark arts. So it has come to this."

Caractacus nodded his understanding. "He is a proud man," he said concernedly, "he will not take such a request easily."

"That is why I have come to you, Caractacus," Gryffindor said, "I have heard rumors that Salazar is raising forces to back his beliefs among former students. I fear that left unchecked this could escalate into a war of Wizard kind." He paused, watching his companion closely.

Ginny gasped at Harry's side. Harry patted her hand gently. "We know such a war never occurred, Ginny," He whispered comfortingly "Let's listen."

Ginny nodded.

"You have spent so much time with Salazar during these final years of construction and expansion, Caractacus; I feared that perhaps you and your men had been so approached." Gryffindor said finally.

"I am well aware of Slytherin's teachings, and they hold no sway with me, if they did I could never have served so many years with the Muggle King Alfred," Caractacus said. "My men followed me here years ago because we tired of fighting the Muggles' constant wars. We laid down our arms to take up tools and finish construction of Hogwarts because we believe in the founders' vision. Your vision, of a safe haven for the education of young Wizards and Witches, and the foundation of a greater Wizard society," He paused, crossing the few steps toward Gryffindor and placing his hand on the larger man's shoulder. "Do not fear, if I and my men have to take up arms again, it will be on the side of Hogwarts, its students, and its greater ideals for Wizarding kind."

Gryffindor likewise placed his hand on Caractacus' shoulder. "If Salazar has not departed the castle within the month, I may well call on you to come to the castle's aid."

"Let us hope it does not come to that," Caractacus responded.

The memory began to dim and twist around Harry and Ginny, fading into darkness before it quickly reformed leaving them standing on rough rocky ground.

"What happened?" Ginny asked.

"It's alright," Harry assured her, "just a change from one memory to another."

"Where is this then?" Ginny questioned as they looked around. Stone rose sharply from the ground on either side of them rising so high that the top was obscured in mist. A steady stream of water was splashing along the ground. It would have soaked their feet had they actually been standing there and not just phantoms within the memory.

Caractacus came around a sharp turn and slogged past them through the water. He was dressed now much as he had been in the previous memory, though he was wearing a heavy furred cloak and Harry saw that he carried a battleaxe across his back. He had a darkly determined look on his face.

"I think this is the bottom of the gorge just east of the castle," Harry said.

Ginny nodded. Together they followed Caractacus as he pressed on along the gorge bottom. Before long he reached what seemed a natural crack in the rock face in the left side of the gorge wall that had split wide enough to just permit the passage of a grown man. Caractacus forced himself into the crevasse with obvious effort.

Fortunately for Harry and Ginny, neither was as tall or stout as Caractacus, nor confined by the physical parameters of the memory, so they were able to follow with ease.

After about ten meters the space widened. Caractacus drew his wand and lit the end. After a few more meters the open top of the crevasse closed becoming a cave. It quickly opened in to what appeared to be natural cave formations. They continued to follow Caractacus closely as he wound his way through the labyrinth of natural passages until he came to a still pool of dark water deep in the recesses of the rock. Here he removed his formidable axe and threw off his heavy cloak, quickly re-securing the weapon. He began to move down into the water.

"Ginny," Harry said squeezing her hand, "I think this is going to lead us to the Chamber of Secrets. Are you going to be okay with that?"

Ginny looked at Harry her face filled with fear and apprehension. "I'll be okay," she whispered as she tried to form a smile, but failed. "Do we have to swim, Harry?" she asked.

Harry began to say something, but what it was, was lost as they suddenly felt themselves pulled down into the dark water. They both reflexively held their breath. It was an odd sensation as they felt surrounded by the cold water and yet not actually wet. They watched as Caractacus, illuminated only by his wand, navigated the narrow passage at a powerful swim, yet neither of them was swimming, in fact they were still quite upright. It was a long half minute before they could see an illuminated area of surface water above them. Caractacus broke the surface of the water silently and quickly made his way to the edge where he pulled himself up from the cold water. Harry and Ginny both gasped as they broke the surface allowing themselves to be pulled along by Caractacus in the memory.

Harry chuckled a little, suddenly realizing that he was not wet, he imagined there had been no reason for holding his breath. Ginny gasped at his side and he became aware suddenly of just where they were. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. They followed Caractacus up from the natural slope of the cave to where the constructed stone floor began. Harry recognized the large entrance door of the Chamber to his left realizing that they were indeed within the Chamber of Secrets. Caractacus took a moment to draw his wand and cast a drying charm. He then proceeded cautiously down the center of the hall between the large pillars. Harry and Ginny followed.

At the far end of the huge chamber the statue of Salazar Slytherin stood quiet vigil over the expansive space. Torches flickered and guttered at each pillar casting the chamber in an orange light.

"It seems much bigger than I remember, Harry," Ginny said quietly.

"I think that is the effect of the firelight," Harry whispered back.

Caractacus came to the center of the open Chamber before the massive statue and stopped. There he suddenly called, "Lord Slytherin." His voice echoed in the chamber. After a moment he repeated himself.

There was the distinct sound of rock sliding against rock, though Harry could not tell where it was coming from in the echoing chamber.

From behind the statue a man appeared, walking calmly around the massive sweep of carved robe. He was a tall, thin man with a bald head and a long thin graying beard that swept nearly to the floor. His robes were green with silver trimmings. He raised one bushy eyebrow in recognition as he came round the front of the statute.

"Lord Caractacus, son of a potter," Salazar Slytherin said, "May I ask how you entered my secret Chamber?"

Caractacus seemed to wince at the use of his Muggle title. "I and my men constructed this chamber for you Lord Slytherin," he responded. "Do you find it surprising that a chamber of secrets should have a secret entrance known only to its builder?"

Slytherin seemed unaffected. He spoke calmly, "no, I suppose not. Though, perhaps I should have chosen another as my secret keeper."

"I have not betrayed your secret," Caractacus spat with a bit of anger, "not even the men who carved your precious statue recall doing so. Beyond yourself, only I as secret keeper, have knowledge of this place. Your charms have not been violated, and I will honor my oath unto my death."

"Good," Slytherin said, "So, what is your purpose in coming to me here?"

"I know of your army of followers gathered in the forest," Caractacus spoke, "My own men are gathered above ready to repel them should it become necessary." He paused staring intently at the man standing confidently before him. "You have been asked to leave the Castle, I come to discover if you intend to do so, or if you intend to plunge the Wizard world into a war that may well prove to be its end?"

"And if my answer displeases you?" Slytherin said smirking.

Caractacus did not respond immediately, clearly his mind was considering various possibilities. "History already considers you one of the foremost Wizards of the age, you are one of the founders of Hogwarts and your name will live on through one of its student houses for as long a the school stands, do you really wish to be remembered as a tyrant who plunged the Wizard world into war over blood status?"

Slytherin seemed momentarily taken aback "I cannot expect you to understand the need for blood purity, you who were born to a daughter of the house of Peverell in marriage to a lowly Muggle potter."

Caractacus laughed, "You seek to insult me with my heritage? I am proud of my Muggle father, he was a great man, who taught me honor and bravery. Even your colleagues thought so, for was it not Rowena Ravenclaw who personally asked him to come and begin construction of Hogwarts Castle? I am proud to wear the name Potter, just as I am proud to have taken up his work on the castle upon his death. Do not forget, _Lord_ Slytherin," somehow Caractacus made the title sound insulting, "I too know a little about history, and I know the Peverell family story of Anabal Slytherin."

Slytherin's eyes widened with terrified surprise.

Caractacus pushed on. "The story goes that a Muggle came to my great-great grandfather's house seeking work and refuge. He was made a stable hand and later became groundskeeper. He married one of the house servants and had a beautiful raven haired daughter. She grew so beautiful that the Master's sons each sought her hand in marriage, but Master Peverell would not allow a union between any of his sons and a servant. One day, mysteriously, Anabal Slytherin packed up his family and disappeared to the east. The rumor of course was that his daughter was with child by one of the Master's sons. That is the only other place that I have ever heard the name Slytherin." Caractacus paused. "Do you even know which of my great uncles was your father; you who are a bastard son of the house of Peverell."

Slyherin's eyes betrayed his anger. "Who have you told of this tale?"

"No one," Caractacus replied, "one does not freely share the dishonor of ones family." He chuckled darkly, "Funny, don't you think, that if pure blood status is so important, that the union of Wizard and Muggle so often produces such powerful Wizards?"

Slytherin's wand flashed suddenly, a bolt of red light shot at Caractacus, who was obviously ready for the attack and had his shield up deflecting the spell.

Ginny screamed as the deflected spell passed through her and Harry. Harry gripped her hand tighter.

The two men launched in to heated battle, spells flashing between them at a furious pace. At first both men's shields seemed to hold. Deflected spells of intense force crashed in to the walls of the chamber causing the stone walls to crack and splinter. Slytherin attacked with fire, which Caractacus countered with water raised from the surrounding pools. The water turned to ice as a blizzard assaulted Caractacus, who countered with his own fire.

For long minutes the two men seemed evenly matched as they weaved and dodged each other, neither letting the other rest against their assault. The pace seemed to slow as they each tired, but the spells keep flying causing them to seek cover behind statue and pillar respectively.

Caractacus drew his battleaxe as Slytherin stepped from his cover and cast a powerful blasting curse. It slammed into Caractacus' shield and battered his protection down to nothing before both spells dissipated. Caractacus flashed his wand upon his axe and it glowed as he raised a powerful arm and cast the axe at Slytherin.

Slytherin seemed to find the action humorous as he cast his shield. The axe struck the shield and stuck there as if lodged in a tree. Tendrils of magical energy flashed from the axe, like lightening, encompassing the shield charm and surrounding Slytherin. There was a deafening explosion of cracking thunder and a flash of blinding light.

Slytherin lay dazed, on the stone floor of the chamber. Caractacus got to his feet and cast "_Expelliarmus_" causing Slytherin's wand to fly from his hand and crash into the stone wall of the chamber, where it fell broken to the floor.

Harry and Ginny came closer as Caractacus retrieved his axe and pulling Slytherin to his knees held the broad blade of the weapon to his throat.

"You are defeated Salazar," Caractacus growled angrily, "concede and swear it!" he demanded.

Slytherin's voice came in a raspy whisper, "I concede, I am defeated and I shall never battle you again, lest my own life be forfeit, I swear."

Caractacus withdrew his axe and dropped Slytherin to the stone floor. "Thou wilt disband thy followers and return to the lands of thy birth where I expect I shall not hear of you again." Caractacus ordered. "You may keep your place in history. I will not disgrace Hogwarts with the truth of your intentions. If you attempt to build power again I will hunt you till I see your end."

Slytherin looked up at him angrily, "I will leave the castle and do as you wish," he pushed himself up to his knees and leaning heavily on the foot of the statue pulled himself to his feet. "I see now, that it is not yet time for my war. I will seal this chamber for a thousand years. But know this, Caractacus, the seeds I have planted will grow, that you cannot prevent. You have averted the war at this time, but one day there will come a child of my line, who will embrace my ideals and forward my work no matter the cost."

Caractacus turned and began to walk back toward the front of the chamber. "On that day, there will be a Potter to defeat your champion," he said.

"That I cannot allow," Slytherin shouted, he reached beneath his beard and grabbed something which was hung around his neck.

Harry gasped as he recognized the gold locket. It was the one they had seen at Grimmauld Place.

Holding the locket in one hand Slytherin waved his other hand before him and spoke an incantation in a language Harry did not recognize. A green mist rose from the locket which had opened in his palm. It floated toward Caractacus.

Turning, Caractacus cast a shield charm, but the mist floated through it as if it weren't there. It engulfed him and disappeared into him. He fell to his knees.

"What magic is this? Cast without wand, by one already defeated?"

Harry pulled Ginny closer to Caractacus as their perception of the world around them began to fade.

"It is ancient magic," Slytherin said as he stepped closer, gloating. "It is fae magic, taught to me by the Witch who raised me. Cast through the last wisps of a fairies' wing kept in my locket." Slytherin circled. "Yes, I am defeated Caractacus, you defeated me and I conceded. I cannot kill you, but I can curse you! And my curse is that you shall not father children."

Caractacus glowed a sickly green for a moment before collapsing to the ground. Harry and Ginny's perception began to narrow and fade rapidly as Caractacus was losing consciousness.

Slytherin began to cackle with laughter.

The world collapsed in on itself. With a gasp both Harry and Ginny found themselves standing against the desk in the study. Harry sat heavily in the desk chair and Ginny pulled herself into his lap. They sat in silence for what might have been minutes, or moments.

"What was that all about Harry?" Ginny finally asked, "none of it fits with any history we have ever been taught."

"No, it doesn't," Harry conceded, "but I'm inclined to believe it's true nonetheless."

"But how could it be true Harry? If it is as we saw, then your ancestor Caractacus would never have had any children?"

"And yet, here I am," Harry sighed, "perhaps I am not truly a Potter after all?"

"That cannot be," Ginny said, "what about your inheritance? The blood locks, the blood stone protecting this house? All of that seems dependant on you being exactly who you are, Harry Potter."

"Then perhaps the answer lies in one of the other memories," Harry said after a short pause. "Are you up to looking at another?"

Ginny got up off his lap and pulled him to his feet. "I am ready if you are," she smiled excitedly at him.

Harry used his wand and carefully withdrew the memory from the Pensieve returning it to its vial. Satisfied that it was secure in the proper slot within the lockbox he picked up the next vial in the line. The tag read, 'Armes Weasley-Potter, c. 1147 - Potter Curse/Blessing.'

Harry broke the wax seal and removed the stopper from the vial. Carefully, he tipped the pearly contents in to the Pensieve and stirred the surface with his wand.

Again, Harry and Ginny stood hand in hand and placed their free hands in the Pensieve. Ginny found the sense of falling into the memory a bit less disconcerting this second time. They lit on a solid stone balcony. It was near dusk and a cool fragrant breeze made Harry guess that it was springtime.

There were two figures on the balcony, apparently enjoying the pleasant evening. One was a tall grey haired man dressed in a deep blue silken robe that hung loose from his broad shoulders. Even from the back Harry could tell this was Caractacus. The man had his arm around a woman. She was a full head shorter than him and dressed in an equally splendid robe of a similar blue. From behind her most striking feature was her fiery red hair, elaborately braided, adorned with wild flowers and reaching nearly to the floor.

"Happy Anniversary, my love," came Caractacus' voice, calm and gentle. Gone were the commanding authoritative tones so evident in the previous memory.

The woman turned to him and wrapping her arms about his neck pulled them together in a deep and telling kiss. That these two people were deeply and abidingly in love was evident.

Harry felt Ginny cling to his arm and lean into him at his side. He wrapped his arm around her affectionately.

After the couple broke from a long lingering kiss they stood together eyes locked. Harry got the impression that there was deep communication passing in their gaze.

The balcony door opened and a House-Elf stepped through quietly. She was carrying a golden tray upon which stood two crystal goblets. They were filled with a shimmering liquid that appeared to be golden in color and luminescent.

"Master, Mistress," the Elf squeaked in a high, childish sounding voice, "Jeri is so pleased to bring the blessing of the fairies to her beloved and honored Masters."

The woman turned and kneeling down to the Elf's level took the two goblets from the tray. "You flatter us so, dear Jeri, it is you that brings honor to our household, with your service." The little Elf blushed pink, and bowing backed away.

"Have all the casks of honey cream been set out, Jeri?" Caractacus asked.

"Jeri has seen to it herself, Master. Not a single nut or berry has been missed, all that the house has to offer is set out as instructed," the Elf squeaked happily.

"Then you must gather all the House-Elves and join your cousins in the start of the Maying," Caractacus commanded gently, "I do not wish you to serve us further until you have had your fill of the celebration's frivolities. You will honor us beyond measure with your happiness."

A broad smile stretched the face of the little Elf, "Yes, Master," she replied as she closed the balcony door.

Ginny giggled at Harry's side, "Harry, I have never been much around House-Elves until I met you, but it seems to me that your ancestors got it right. If it is in their nature to serve, it seems only right that we should assure their happiness."

Harry nodded in agreement, "it does seem that a happy Elf, makes a happy Master."

"Caractacus?" the woman questioned, recapturing Harry and Ginny's attention. "Dost thou feel ever wrong in accepting the gift of life from the fairies?"

"No, Armes, my love, it is after all, a gift, freely given," Caractacus replied, and he clinked his goblet to hers, "to long life, health and happiness," he said.

Armes smiled happily at her husband, "life, health and happiness," she repeated, and they each drank the contents of their goblets. After a few moments of silence, she turned again. "Art thou contented, my husband?" she asked.

"I am content, you know this, my love," he said without hesitation.

"Aye," she smiled wrapping her arms about his neck once more, "but we both know there is one thing that would make us truly happy, beyond content."

Caractacus looked suddenly sad. "I thought we had agreed not to speak of it again," he stated plainly.

"Aye, my Love, I know, we did agree," Armes said apologetically, "but each year at the Maying, I feel a longing."

"Aye, Love, I feel it too," Caractacus said with resignation. Then he chuckled, "how could we not feel something when by midnight the fairies will reach a mating frenzy."

There was a long silence, "I would like to try again," Armes said.

"My dear, what have we left to try?" Caractacus asked, not expecting an answer. "For years I went to every curse breaker I know, and none were able to offer solution. The curse is unbreakable; I've accepted it as the price for averting a war." He paused. "Then, once we found each other were bonded, and wed, we tried again for twenty years. I do not know what is left to try."

"Please, my Love, do not be angry with me," Armes said "I have acted without you; I have invited, Helga and Rowena to visit us anon, here at the Castle."

Caractacus looked at his wife with surprise. "Lady Hufflepuff, and Lady Ravenclaw?" he asked with astonishment. "They have not left Hogwarts in many years; surely they declined such an invitation. And why during the Maying, we do not have guests during the Maying."

"Surely you are not saying that Lady Hufflepuff, and Lady Ravenclaw are not welcome in our home, Husband?" Armes asked teasingly.

"Of course they are welcome," Caractacus pronounced, "but, certainly they did not accept?"

Armes smiled mischievously at Caractacus.

"They did?" Caractacus asked, clearly hoping for a negative answer.

Armes nodded affirmatively. "They will arrive early afternoon on the morrow."

"What is it you expect that they can do?" Caractacus asked.

"I do not know, but what is the harm in telling them the story and seeing if they have any ideas?" Armes said pleadingly.

"Alright, my Love, you win," Caractacus said, looking deep in to her eyes. "But you know what this means, now I must go and make their visit okay with the fairies."

Armes blushed and giggled girlishly, "It means you will have to address the fairies, during the start of Maying." She giggled a bit more. "Which means you will have to appear before them naked in the moonlight, and you will return after filled with amorous need," She blushed more deeply. "But, 'tis our anniversary, husband, surely you were planning to make love with me anyway?" She flashed her eyelashes, "May I watch from the balcony?" she teased.

Ginny began to giggle at Harry's side and Harry was struck by how similar she sounded to Armes. He turned to look at her and she was blushing furiously. It made Harry blush as well and he chuckled with a slight embarrassment.

Caractacus pulled his wife's arms from around his neck, but held firmly to both of her hands. "Oh no, m'lady," he said firmly, "'twas all your idea, so thou wilt attend with me," he pulled her toward the balcony doors. Ginny and Harry reflexively stepped out of the way.

"Oh my," Armes said as they passed through the doors. She was still giggling.

Darkness fell upon Harry and Ginny as the memory faded, only to reform anew.

Harry and Ginny found themselves in a very nicely appointed parlor. It was a bright room filled with light from broad windows. At a small table sat Armes, beautifully dressed in a simple pale green gown. At the table with her were two very elderly women, both had pure white hair, one was slightly plump and dressed in black, trimmed with gold, the other tall and lean dressed in deep blue with Bronze trim. Both women showed their extreme age not only in their rugose appearance, but in their slow movements.

"We were delighted that you accepted our invitation, you honor us with your visit." Armes was saying.

"Nonsense, child" Rowena Ravenclaw, said in what Harry thought was a rather deep and very stately voice. "Twas an honor to receive your invitation," she said, "As you can well imagine, we do not venture out much at our age, but none would refuse an invitation from the Potters."

"After all," Helga Huffelpuff cut in, "thy husband, and his father before him, practically built Hogwarts." Her voice was much higher and almost girlish compared to her companion's.

Just then Caractacus entered the room levitating a tray laden with a pitcher of ale, and one of currant juice and a succulent array of sweet breads and honey biscuits. The tray landed gently at the center of the table and he began to serve drinks.

"My goodness, Caractacus," Rowena commented as she took a glass of juice, "You have doted on us all afternoon, there is no need to serve us personally, where ever are your House-Elves?"

"Rowena," Helga interrupted abruptly, "Haven't you noticed, the Castle is inundated with Fae magic at the moment. Doubtless the Potters have released their elves for the Maying."

"The Maying?" Rowena said, the thought obviously not having occurred to her. She looked around the room. "Oh my," she said with sudden realization.

"We have long honored the fairies in our household," Caractacus said with a broad smile. "As the Maying began last evening with the new moon, you may see many fairie here, and you will have to excuse them, if they are a bit indiscreet." Having served drinks he took a seat next to his wife.

As if to example his statement several fairies entered the room flitting here and there, a few lighted on the trolley and began to help themselves to biscuits, while others landed about the room and began doing things that most Witches and Wizards would consider required the utmost secured privacy.

Rowena acted as if she simply hadn't noticed, but Helga leaned forward and said, "I think it most beautiful. If there were not students at the Castle this time of year I would release all the Hogwarts elves to celebrate."

"As it is they manage to celebrate quite enough down in their quarters," Rowena added and the two women began to laugh.

Their laughter caught the attention of the fairies at the table and they inched closer sitting on the table edge as though joining the conversation, while munching on crumbs of biscuits which they brought in small piles next to them. They seemed to be watching the older women with curiosity.

Helga eyed the small creatures with intense curiosity of her own. "I was not aware, Caractacus, that you had such a good relationship with the Fea," she asked.

"Yes, well I built it up over many years after settling here," Caractacus answered dismissively, trying to make nothing of the question, "Tis a very simple matter of respect and kindness."

Helga nodded understandingly, before continuing, "And I am guessing, given your obvious physical health that you have unlocked the mystery of the famed fairie potion of health and long life? After all you are only, what, roughly a hundred years younger than Rowena and I? And you my dear," she said turning to Armes, "you must be rapidly approaching your centennial birthday? And look at you, not a grey hair to be seen."  
Armes blushed slightly.

Caractacus finished a bite of his bread and set the remainder down. "I am sorry, I cannot tell you the secret of the potion," he said. Helga nodded her understanding, but disappointment showed on her face. After a moment he smiled. "All I can tell you is that the secret is very simple as many secrets indeed are. It took me many years to discover and the gift is not mine to share."

"Well, the pursuit of a long and healthy life is not necessarily a pursuit of the dark arts, as Godric would have taught," Rowena, said a bit forlornly. Helga reached out and took her hand at the mention of Gryffindor. "It is the pursuit of immortality that becomes dark. I trust this is not thy purpose here?" she asked.

"Oh no," Caractacus answered, "I have no desire to live forever. Just long enough to..." his voice trailed away.

"What is it," Helga asked, "what troubles you?"

Armes took her husband's hand and patted it gently. "My husband has a tale to tell you, a secret tale that he guards most diligently, but it is the reason we have asked you both here for this visit."

The two elderly women nodded, wide eyed.

"What I have to tell you concerns the events of Salazar Slytherin's departure from Hogwarts," he paused, "there are parts of the story which I am bound by oath to keep secret, so please, let me tell my tale, and ask me no questions."

Rowena and Helga again nodded.

Slowly, and deliberately Caractacus began to tell the tale, beginning with Godric Gryffindor seeking his assistance, should it come to a battle. He elaborated some on his preparations and his despair at the idea that it might come to a blood status war between Wizard kind.

Leaving out entirely the detail that he faced Slytherin in the Chamber of secrets, he described going to see Slytherin with intent to plead with him not to pursue his course of action. Rowena and Helga both gasped when he explained how despite his intention the conversation turned quickly to accusation about blood status, and again as Caractacus recounted Slytherin's heritage, and the impurity of his own blood.

Caractacus described in as much detail as he could, dueling with and finally defeating Slytherin. He told how Slytherin promised that after a thousand years a child of his line would come to finish his work. To which he had responded that a Potter would be present to defeat such a dark champion of injustice.

Then he described how Salazar had used a remnant of a fairie wing to cast a curse upon him proclaiming that he should never have an heir, a curse that to this day Caractacus had not been able to break.

"My intent in befriending the Fea was to seek an answer to the curse, when no Wizard had been able to give one," Caractacus paused, nearly in tears. "The fairies here have become great friends to this household, but even they have no means to defeat this dreaded proclamation."

Clutching at Caractacus' hand Armes spoke up. "We have sought every means to overcome this curse, and for these past many years we have resigned ourselves to its hold, but I convinced my husband to tell you this tale so that we might seek your advice," she said, "The two of you are our last hope for an answer."

There was a long silence in the room as Helga and Rowena considered the problem. Both seemed determined to offer something, but neither looked like an answer was forthcoming. Finally Rowena spoke. "Curses of any kind are a complicated matter, and this one is very perplexing. I should like to examine you Caractacus, if you are agreeable?"

"Of course," he responded quickly.

Rowena and Helga both rose and moved a chair a little away from the table, asking Caractacus to move to it. Once he was seated they both drew their wands and began circling him, casting various spells upon him and consulting the resultant colors which glowed about him, or sparked from their wards. After nearly fifteen minutes of examination, both women returned to their chairs at the table where Armes refreshed their juice.

Caractacus returned to the table as well.

"Secrets and promises surround you Caractacus, you are bound to Salazar Slytherin by more than this curse," Rowena said finally.

Caractacus nodded.

"It is quite certain that there is no way to break this curse," Helga concluded.

Caractacus took Armes' hands in his as she dropped her head a bit and tears streaked her face.

"However," Rowena continued, "tell me once again, exactly the words Salazar used when he cursed you."

Caractacus looked up in confusion, as if searching his memory. "He said, 'I cannot kill you, but I can curse you! And my curse is that you shall not father children'."

"You are certain these where his exact words?" Helga asked.

Caractacus nodded. Armes looked up at the two women who were looking back and forth between each other and had begun to smile.

"It is possible, we may be able to help you after all," Rowena said.

Armes' expression brightened.

"Curses, especially very powerful curses can be very particular and quite literal things," Helga began to explain, "in this case, if Salazar's words were exactly as you have recounted and he in fact said 'you shall not father children' it is certain that he meant, and you interpreted, that you would never father 'any' children. But taken literally, you may not father children, but 'a child' is not 'children' so even though we cannot break the curse, we may be able to amend it with a curse of our own," Helga smiled triumphantly.

"There would be consequences, you understand," Rowena said, "but if we, say, cursed the House of Potter so that there could only ever be a single child in each generation," she said.

"Perhaps a single boy child," Helga added hastily.

"This we may be able to accomplish," Rowena stated, clearly she was still thinking about it. "We may have to add some conditions."

"What conditions are you thinking?" Caractacus asked.

"Future Potter marriages would have to be bonded couples, most certainly," Helga offered.

"It would mean that the curse would be extended in to the future, but it would allow for a future that right now does not seem possible," Rowena stated, "you must decide if that is something you can live with."

Armes looked up in to her husband's hardened face with a pleading expression. After a moment his features softened.

"We will have to consider this matter carefully," Caractacus said, "It is not a decision to be made hastily."

"Quite right," Rowena concurred, "If we agree to proceed some considerable preparation will be required as well."

"I suggest that we conclude the matter for now," Helga stated, "Rowena and I will give it our attention upon our return to Hogwarts, and you can send us an owl once you have had appropriate time to consider and come to a decision,"

They all nodded in agreement.

"Now," Helga continued, "if we have all had enough refreshment, I for one would very much like to see the Castle gardens."

They finished their glasses and setting them all on the service tray, set out from the parlor. Armes walked arm in arm with Helga, and Caractacus with Rowena to support the older women.

As they were leaving the room the memory began to fade, just as Rowena leaned in close to Caractacus and whispered, "She's never been all that fancy on gardens; she just wants to see more of the fairies a Maying."

Caractacus chuckled.

The memory swirled to nothing and quickly began to reform again. Harry and Ginny found themselves in a fire lit bedchamber where a woman was screaming. A quick glance about the room revealed that the screaming woman was Armes, who was near the foot of the large bed propped into a near squatting position against a padded triangular shaped support. Three matronly women attended her. Harry turned red at the realization she was giving birth, and he was grateful that he was standing near the edge of the bed at her side and somewhat behind her. Ginny on the other hand released Harry's hand and rushed to the foot of the bed where she could get a more direct view.

As Armes screamed again Harry found himself examining the room and noticing that it was a winter night outside, the windows, covered in frost.

After a few more screams the room was filled with a new screaming voice as a wailing baby was removed to a sideboard to be washed and dressed.

The attendants were bustling about the room, one taking the baby while the others saw to Armes' needs as she too was cleaned up and plied with potions. The birthing board was removed and she was set to rest comfortably in the bed.

The woman attending the baby came to the bedside and presented the now calm child to its mother. "You have a strong son m'lady," she said as she placed the baby in to Armes' waiting arms.

"My husband," Armes asked.

Almost immediately the chamber door swung open and Caractacus rushed in from the room beyond. He came directly to the bedside.

The attendants hurried from the room and closed the door behind them.

"You have a son, my Husband," Armes said proudly.

"We have a son, my Love," Caractacus corrected as he leaned down to kiss both mother and child. After a minute he stood back up and Armes held up the baby to his gentle embrace. With tears of joy trickling from his eyes he held back the swaddling blanket from the baby's face and beheld his son. "Would that we could have prevented my curse from moving to you our son," he said.

"How can you look at him and think of the curse my Love," Armes said, "I look upon him and think only that we are mightily blessed," she paused, "all else will be solved in time."

Caractacus sat on the bed next to Armes and together they held their son. "Yes my Love, all things in time, for now we know that the House of Potter will abide," he said.

Ginny had returned to Harry's side and taken his hand, she smiled up at him obviously delighted with the memory before her. Harry smiled at her in return, as the memory faded into darkness and once again they found themselves leaning against the desk in the study.

Harry sat heavily in the desk chair; he wasn't upset by the memories, or even confused, just a little astounded, that his family history was so complex and so interwoven with Hogwarts history. And these had only been the first two memories; there were still ten more to go.

Ginny sat herself in Harry's lap. "Well, at least we know that you are in fact a Potter," she said, "Your family history is amazing, Harry."

"Yeah, well it seems like Potters are always at the center of trouble to me," Harry said off handedly, "seems like this whole thing with Voldemort started way before any of us existed."

Ginny took Harry's head in her hands and lifted his face to meet her gaze. "Caractacus was a hero, Harry, he put everyone and everything he knew ahead of himself, and he averted a war that so early in our history might have been truly devastating," she said, "you should be proud to be descended from him."

Harry nodded his head, "I am Ginny," he said, "I guess I am just a bit overwhelmed."

"I guess that is understandable,' Ginny said as she leaned in and kissed him.

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"Me?" Ginny said, giving him a quizzical look.

"Aren't you curious just how you are related to Armes?" Harry asked, "And didn't you notice that the woman Beathas and her husband Roald looked a lot like Weasleys? I swear you have exactly the same eyes."

Ginny giggled. "Yes I noticed," She said, "the way Roald was eating reminded me of Ron too. He got the same sort of look Ron gets, that look that warns you to keep your fingers clear of his plate."

Harry laughed. "Well, it is certainly a lot to think about," he said, "and that was just the first two memories."

"Well, do you want to look at another," Ginny asked.

Harry pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "We have been here nearly two hours," He said with mild surprise, "I suspect people have begun to wonder where we have gotten off to. I think perhaps more memories can wait. We should get back before your mother comes looking for us."

Ginny smiled and nodded agreement. She wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and leaned in to him pressing her lips to his. The kiss grew quite passionate, lasting a good minute or two. When Ginny finally pulled herself away, gasping for breath, she said, "there, if we are going to have to face the assumptions that we stole away for a bit of snogging, I want it to be at least partially true."

Harry, chuckled. "Right you are," he said, and pulled her back in to a repeat performance.

Some fifteen minutes later, when they finally pulled apart, Harry carefully withdrew the memory from the Pensieve and returned it to its vial. Then he levitated the Pensieve back to its drawer, leaving the liquid in it ready for its next use. Ginny returned the empty jar to the drawer as Harry locked up the box of memories in the desk.

They left the study and began walking back to the sitting room.

They had barely made it to the central stairs when they saw Ron and Hermione coming down the stairs from the floor above. Hermione had the parchments of instructions from his Grandfather clutched in her hand. Harry had completely forgotten about them.

"Where did you two get off to?" Ron asked.

"We've been in the study," Harry explained.

"Harry," Hermione began, "I was reading these instructions some more," she indicated the parchments with a gesture. "Your Grandfather says in here, that the memories which have been left for you have remained sealed since they were collected, apparently no one has ever looked at them, not even your own ancestors. He says that you are the one they have been left for and you should look at them alone."

Harry looked a little embarrassed and then he squeezed Ginny's hand a little. "Well, it's a bit late for that," he said, "Ginny and I just looked at the first two."

"Really?" Hermione asked enthusiastically, her curiosity getting the better of her. "And, they weren't too private to share?" she asked.

"No, I don't think so," Harry responded, "The first one was from, what would it be, my great- great-great-great-grandfather, Caractacus Potter." Harry counted off the 'greats' with his fingers as he spoke. "And, while I really wouldn't want just anyone looking at it, there was nothing there too private to share with Ginny. As a matter of fact, I suspect there was a glimpse of some Weasley ancestry in it as well."

Ron's eyes grew large, "Really?" he asked, "Do you think I could give it a look see, Mate?"

"Yeah, I think both you and Hermione can look at it if you like," Harry replied, "The second one was about Caractacus and his wife Armes, who we know was a Weasley."

"And the 'Potter Curse'?" Hermione asked, "Do you know what it is now?"

"Yes," Harry said, "basically, in the first memory, Salazar Slytherin curses my ancestor Caractacus so that he cannot have children. And, in the second memory, with the help of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, the curse is modified so that the Potters can only have one boy child each generation. But, there was nothing there that yet explains how to break the curse. I suspect there will be more about it in later memories."

"The Hogwarts founders appear in these memories?" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry, that is fantastic, there are very few records about the founders still in existence. This could be historically significant."

Harry chuckled, "I suppose so, but the memories are not about them directly."

"Even so," Hermione persisted, "I should very much like to see them if I may?"

"Of course," Harry said, pulling out his watch again and looking at it. "But right now I suspect we should be getting back to the sitting room," he looked from Ron to Ginny and back again. "I suspect your parents are thinking about returning home soon, and they will want Ginny to return with them. And, there are guests in the manor."

"I suppose you are right, Harry," Hermione said resignedly, obviously anxious to view the memories as soon a possible.

The four of them headed for the sitting room.

"So, when did you get all grown up, Mate?" Ron said nudging Harry's arm with his elbow.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "dunno," he said.

"Well, c'mon then," Ron said increasing the pace with his long strides. "Maybe one of the Elves put some more puddings out."

Ginny, Hermione and Harry all laughed.

"What?" Ron turned to look at them, still moving, "I'm hungry."

"Ron, you are always hungry," they said nearly in unison.

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**NEXT**  
Chapter Twenty-One  
**The Binding of Matrimony**


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